The Guns of Karakura
by jazzpha
Summary: AU. Ichigo Kurosaki rides into Karakura, looking for a few days of rest from his search for his missing sisters and the men that took them from him. He winds up getting a lot more than he bargained for. IchiRuki, other pairings. Collab w/ JasoTheArtisan.
1. Homecoming

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach, or any of its characters. Tite Kubo does. This story, however, belongs to me.

**A/N:** A brief Author's Note before we begin. This story was inspired partly by another Bleach Western story I read, "Spirits of the West" by Rogue Amazon Boo. You should check it out; it's a great read (it's also rated M, though, so keep the kids at home). I was also inspired by a recent marathon session of "Deadwood", which is all kinds of awesome.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 1: **Homecoming

* * *

Ichigo Kurosaki left his horse and a small pouch of gold nuggets with the stable-hand, the kind of money that asked no questions and expected none to be asked in return. Taking off his beaten-up hat and tossing it onto the head of a passed out drunk, the orange-haired young man surveyed his surroundings and sighed.

He hoped he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his life, coming to a place like this.

Checking to make sure that his guns were loaded and he looked at least somewhat presentable, Ichigo began to trek towards the nearest saloon. The saloon where, he hoped, his only friend in these parts was going to be there to meet him. If that bastard had shirked his promise and hung him out to dry, Kurosaki swore that the undertaker would be ordering at least three new coffins by the time the sun went down.

On his way to the watering hole, Ichigo passed by a guy about his age with red hair almost as loud as his own, pulled back into a ponytail and covered for the most part by a hat. A pair of guns sat at his hips, well-made by the looks of the grips. Not liking the kind of glance he was getting, the orange-haired gunslinger stopped cold and looked over at the stranger.

"Can I help you?" he asked sharply, and the red-haired man's eyes shifted to the guns at Kurosaki's waist before drifting slowly back up to hold Ichigo's gaze.

"You're new 'round here," the stranger said, after a few more heartbeats worth of pause, "ain'tcha?"

"What of it?" Ichigo pressed, and the other gunslinger just shrugged dismissively before walking away.

"Nothin'," he grunted, spitting out a stream of tobacco. "I'd give ya two weeks, and that's being generous."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole," Kurosaki growled, of half a mind to blow the bastard's hat clean off his head before he cooled down and reconsidered. He hadn't even met up with the person he was going to be staying with, and there was no sense in riling up the law before he had a place to run to for cover.

After a few more minutes, Ichigo finally reached his destination. The saloon was called "The Black Cat", and judging from what he could see on the outside, the orange-haired young man was stunned that someone his father had held in such high esteem would frequent a place like this. Nonetheless, he had promised his pa as the old man took his dying breath that he would come here, and so he had. Sure, it had taken him a few years and more than a few unpleasant detours, but Ichigo's path had finally led him here, to Karakura, and hopefully to a few day's rest before his search began again. Sighing and gathering himself together one last time, the gunslinger opened the door to the saloon and stepped in.

His nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of whiskey and bad breath, and Ichigo would have bolted out the door immediately if not for the beautiful women bustling around the room. Some were serving whiskey, others were serving food and a few were busy wringing the last scrap of change out of poor suckers' pockets by plying the world's oldest trade, but they all had one thing in common: they were the first eyeful of the fairer sex Ichigo had gotten in way too long, and they were all gorgeous.

Blinking hard and trying not to let his eye wander too far, Kurosaki walked up to the bar and sat down. His trained eye instinctively looked towards the far end of the bar, where he saw a man sitting on the last stool in a black jacket with white leather diamonds arranged in a line on the bottom. His hair was blond and messy, covered for the most part by a white cowboy hat with a green stripe around the middle of it. A cigarette was perched lazily in his lips, and the man sat like he was wearing a gunbelt even though he wasn't. Ichigo smiled.

So his friend hadn't backed out after all.

"What'll it be, handsome?" a voice called out to him, and Kurosaki shifted his eyes back to the space in front of him before they almost popped out of his head. The dark-skinned woman currently standing before him was something out of a ranch-hand's dreams, and given how she was carrying herself, she knew it. Her golden eyes gleamed mischievously as she saw what sort of effect she was having on the young man, and she smiled a distinctively feline grin.

"My face is up here, stranger," she teased, and Ichigo's face turned a decidedly red shade as he sputtered, embarrassed.

"My apologies, ma'am," he said after a moment or two. "I meant no offense."

The woman laughed, a cheery sound that was nonetheless tainted around the edges.

"None taken, kid. To be honest, I kinda like gettin' looks like that every once in a while," the woman continued, her voice turning wistful. "Makes me feel young, y'know? But enough about me," she finished, tapping a shot glass on the bar. "What can I get ya?"

"Double whiskey," Kurosaki spoke, and the woman nodded.

"What grade you want?"

"Best you got," Ichigo elaborated, putting a pair of gold nuggets on the bar. The woman's eyes widened and she looked about ready to ask a question, before choosing not to and fetching the whiskey. After all, when strange men showed up throwing around money that seemed too good to be clean, it usually wasn't, and people with dirty money weren't the kinds who took well to prying tongues. Soon enough the orange-haired gunslinger had a lowball glass of amber liquid in front of him, which he promptly drained with a satisfied sigh.

"That's the stuff," he said happily. "None of that moonshine, low-grade cow's piss; this is liquid gold."

"Can I get you a refill, handsome?" the woman asked, brushing her long braid of purple hair back over her shoulder. The gunslinger shook his head, leaning back slightly.

"No, but you can help me find someone I'm looking for."

"Oh?" the golden-eyed bartender replied, raising an elegant eyebrow. "And who would that be?"

"I'm looking for the Red Prince."

Someone on the outside looking in might have thought a standoff had started inside the saloon, given how quickly the place fell silent. The friendly demeanor of the bartender quickly became frigid and dangerous, and Ichigo knew he had to tread carefully. Clearly, his contact had some kind of past that his father had conveniently neglected to mention.

"I don't know why you would come in here looking to start up trouble like this, stranger," the dark-skinned woman half-hissed, her voice low, "but I suggest you fuck off and ride out the way you came, before things get ugly."

"It's okay, Yoruichi," a calm voice spoke from the end of the bar, belonging to the same man Ichigo had noticed earlier. "No need to get your panties in a twist on my account." The voice turned decidedly deadly as the man turned to regard the young gunslinger, and it took all of Ichigo's nerve not to shiver at the sound of his next words.

"'The Red Prince'," the man repeated, gray eyes shining sharply from beneath the brim of his hat. "No one's called me that name in a long, long time. What're you here for, boy? Come to put a tired old gunslinger into a pine box, for some measly shred of renown that'll be gone before the whores upstairs are done turning their current tricks?"

Ichigo smiled despite himself; this guy was still as dramatic as he remembered from all those years ago, when he had been just a kid.

"You couldn't be more wrong, pal," the orange-haired young man said. "Isshin Kurosaki told me I'd find a friendly face here that went by the name of the Red Prince, but I guess he was mistaken."

The man's eyes widened at the mention of the name Isshin Kurosaki, and he took off his hat to get a clearer view at the stranger's profile.

"How do you know that name?" he asked intently, and Ichigo turned to face him eye-to-eye with a wide, genuine smile.

"Because I'm his son, Kisuke Urahara," the gunslinger replied. The blond-haired man stared dumbly for a few heartbeats, as if he'd seen a ghost, before he had a smile splitting his own face to rival the one on Kurosaki's.

"Ichigo?" Urahara asked, still reeling slightly from shock and standing up. "Is that really you?"

"Damn straight, it's me," the young man shot back, rising to his feet as well. "Who else do you know who's as good looking?"

Yoruichi looked on in amazement as the two men burst out laughing and embraced each other like long lost friends, while the rest of the patrons and workers in the saloon figured that all was well and went back to what they had been doing a few minutes previous.

"Uh, Kisuke?" the golden-eyed bartender spoke up after a few moments. "Mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

"This brash little bastard, Yoruichi," the blond-haired man said, one arm still around Ichigo's shoulders, "is my godson. Ichigo Kurosaki, meet Yoruichi Shihoin, proprietor of this wonderful saloon."

"Pleasure," Yoruichi spoke as she took Ichigo's hand in a firm grip before letting it go.

"Sorry 'bout the misunderstanding earlier, ma'am," the young gunslinger apologized. "Figured I'd throw Urahara for a loop, is all."

"Don't worry about it," Shihoin answered easily, waving her hand dismissively. "Whiskey under the bridge, as far as I'm concerned. Any friend of Kisuke's is a friend of mine, Ichigo."

"So what brings you all the way out here, kid?" the gray-eyed man asked, worry lacing his voice. Not only was Isshin nowhere to be seen, but neither were Ichigo's two younger sisters, Karin and Yuzu. That meant nothing but trouble in the older warrior's mind, and his suspicions were soon confirmed.

"My father and mother are dead," Ichigo intoned gravely, downing the shot in front of him sharply before pounding his glass for another one. "Gunned down like goddamn animals. My sisters are gone, to God knows where at this point."

Urahara's eyes turned steely and serious, but his voice retained some degree of sympathy.

"What happened, Ichigo?"

"My dad had a bad harvest a few years back, and his livestock got hit with a pox that killed off most of it off in the same week. He was desperate for scratch, seein' as how he needed to feed me and my sisters. He went barking up the wrong tree for the cash, and sooner or later he had to pay the piper. Problem was, when the piper came collecting, his pockets were empty."

Ichigo's voice broke for a moment as the memories came back to him, and Kisuke sighed.

"He should've called me, the stubborn bastard," the older man ground out. "I would'a come in there guns blazing, and he knew it."

"Why do ya think he didn't call you, Urahara?" Kurosaki answered with a hollow laugh. "He knew that's just what you would've done; my mother even suggested it one night. I didn't make out the whole conversation 'cause the door was only open a crack, but I heard him say this much: 'Kisuke hung up his irons for a reason, Masaki. He made the right choice, the choice I couldn't make until it was almost too late. I'm not about to pull him back in.'"

The blond-haired man sighed, downing his shot of whiskey and killing his cigarette.

"Stubborn bastard," he repeated, and Ichigo raised his shot glass as soon as Yoruichi had poured them both refills.

"To stubborn bastards, and all the trouble they cause," the orange-haired gunslinger toasted. "May we never forget them as long as we live."

"Amen to that," Urahara answered, killing his shot and turning his glass over, signaling he was done for the night.

"Where're your sisters, Ichigo?" he broached after a moment, and the young Kurosaki sighed.

"The fuckers that took out my mom and my dad grabbed my sisters when they ran. I tried to stop them, but they hit me with two slugs in the chest and left me for dead. I got no fucking idea where Karin and Yuzu are, even after spending all of these years looking."

Kisuke clasped his hands on Ichigo's shoulders, meeting fiery amber eyes with his own, cold gray stare.

"Trust me when I say we're going to find them, Ichigo," he said gravely, "and we're going to make the sons of bitches that did this pay. But first thing's first: you need a good night's sleep and a bath to wash the blood and filth offa ya. Go upstairs and get settled; we'll talk more about this in the morning."

As Ichigo nodded in solemn gratitude and left, Yoruichi finished wiping down a glass and looked seriously over at Urahara.

"You're gonna be wanting them back, aren't you, Kisuke?" she asked, her voice sad.

The gray-eyed man put his hat back on and stood up, stretching his tired muscles.

"Soon, maybe," he admitted, "but not yet, Yoruichi; not yet. I'll be in the back when you care to join me," he added with a wicked smile, and Shihoin feigned chucking the glass at his head as Urahara laughed and hurried from the room.

"Damn that man," the golden-eyed woman growled through her weary smile,

"He's nothing but trouble."

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you have it, the first chapter. I'm writing this as sort of a diversion for when I need a break from the other story I'm working on, but if it gets enough reviews I might be swayed to update it faster. So, if you liked it, please review and tell me so.


	2. New Day

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach. Tite Kubo does.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 2**: New Day

* * *

As the sun rose over the horizon the next morning, Yoruichi lay propped up on one elbow, looking over at the man slumbering next to her. It was an odd thing: Kisuke Urahara could be one of the most cold-blooded, ruthless, quick-drawing gunmen the golden-eyed woman had ever seen. But whenever he was asleep, especially after they'd screwed each other senseless, he seemed like the most peaceful, content and loving man on the face of the earth. It was an odd thing, but Shihoin knew it well, because the same feeling swept over her, just as it did him.

"Kisuke," she said gently, nudging him slowly awake. "Kisuke."

"Whazzit?" the gunslinger mumbled, blinking those sharp gray eyes and reflexively wrapping one arm around the naked form next to him, pulling her closer.

"Go back to sleep, Yoru," Kisuke continued, resting his head comfortably in the crook of her neck. "The place'll still be here when we get up; only difference is it'll start to smell like piss'n whiskey in a few hours."

"Kisuke, I have something I have to ask you, and something I have to tell you."

The tone was one Urahara hadn't heard since the days they had roamed the land as true outlaws, back when he still answered to the Red Prince. Whatever Yoruichi had on her mind, it was serious.

"You're talkin' like the 'Black Cat'," the gray-eyed man said just as seriously, locking eyes with his lover and holding her gaze. "I thought you said you'd never pick up that title or a pair of guns again unless it was a matter of life and death, Yoruichi."

"This is," the dark-skinned woman replied fiercely, a fire burning behind her eyes that made Urahara want to ride her until neither of them could think. But it wasn't the time for that, not now.

"Start with the askin', then, sweetheart."

Yoruichi took a deep breath to steady herself and began.

"Tell me truly," she said, "are you really planning on riding out with Ichigo when that boy decides to saddle up and leave Karakura?"

Kisuke sighed, placing a gentle kiss on Yoruichi's lips.

"I owe Isshin more than any single man can repay, Yoruichi; you know that just as well as I do. Short of a miracle dropping out of the sky and landing in my lap, I ain't got no choice but to go."

"I still have something to tell you, cowboy," the golden-eyed woman said with an undercurrent of something Urahara couldn't quite identify, but it made his heart speed up faster than it had beat in a long, long time. Yoruichi put her mouth next to his ear and whispered a single phrase. When she pulled back, Kisuke's normally unreadable face looked like he'd just been hit by a lightning bolt and struck by a kick from a horse at the same time. After a few moments, he found his voice once more.

"Are… are you sure about that?" he rasped out, wanting to believe it but not thinking a killer like himself could be graced with such good fortune.

"Absolutely," Yoruichi answered, her eyes shining with certainty. "We womenfolk have a way of knowing about these sorts of things when they happen, Kisuke."

Urahara's gray eyes widened, first in shock and then in unabashed joy.

"Well, darlin'," he said, hugging his loved one to him and smiling like a kid at Christmas, "I think a little miracle just dropped into my lap."

The purple-haired woman pulled back slightly and gave a beaming smile.

"It makes me happier to hear that than I think you'll ever know, Kisuke."

"No, Yoruichi," the gunslinger parried, "I think I have a pretty damn good idea of how happy you are right now."

"Shh," she admonished, putting a hand gently over her belly. "We don't want to teach him any foul language before he's even in this world, Kisuke! We'll have plenty of time to do that once he can actually speak the damn words!"

"Do you hear that, Yoruichi?" Kisuke whispered theatrically, putting a hand to his ear. "I think that's the sound of the pot calling the kettle black."

"Oh, fuck off," Shihoin shot back with a smile, punching her lover lightly on the arm.

"This does complicate things with the boy slightly, though," the blond-haired man said thoughtfully, stroking the ever-present stubble on his chin. "I might not be able to ride out with him, but at least I can make sure he won't get himself shot up like a damn fool out there. Would you be willin' to help with Lesson One?"

"Why Kisuke," Yoruichi said slyly, "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Ichigo woke up and sighed happily; it had been ages since he'd gone to sleep and woken up in a proper, downy bed. It would have been even nicer to wake up next to a warm body, but he'd been so worn-out from the previous day's travel that the pleasures of the flesh had been playing second fiddle to a good night's sleep. Not that he hadn't been tempted, though. And, he added in his head with a smug smirk, some of the looks he had been getting from the girls definitely went deeper than the usual 'come hither', businesslike glance the young gunslinger had seen in so many saloons before.

If he ever came back to this place, Kurosaki told himself, this is where he would drop his money, no question. A knock on the door roused Ichigo from his thoughts.

"Who is it?" he called out, instinctively reaching for one of the guns on his nightstand and pulling back the hammer.

"It's me," Kisuke's voice answered. "Let's have a talk, kid."

Ichigo thumbed the hammer forward and exhaled, climbing out of bed.

"Gimme a minute," he said as he began to get dressed. "I'll be right down."

"I'll be waitin'."

Ichigo walked briskly down the wooden steps a few minutes later, hitting the hardwood floor with a slight creak and a jangle as his guns shifted in their holsters. Urahara was already sitting at the bar, an inscrutable look on his face as usual.

"Have a seat, Ichigo," he said calmly, and the orange-haired gunslinger plopped himself down on to the stool next to his godfather, adjusting the new hat he'd picked up on his way down from some passed out drunk who wouldn't be needing it any time soon.

"Originally, I was planning on ridin' out with you to find your sisters, Ichigo, come hell or high water," the gray-eyed man began. "But it seems that life has a way of being a mite unpredictable at times, and I can't make the journey with you."

"Why not?" the young Kurosaki pressed, disappointment lacing the question. Kisuke gave a wide smile as he replied.

"Yoruichi's got a bun in the oven, kid."

It took a moment for the realization to dawn on Ichigo, but when it did his disappointment melted away, replaced instead by joy and a quiet kind of awe.

"Congratulations, Kisuke," the young Kurosaki said as he clapped his hand firmly on his godfather's shoulder. "I know you'll do a great job raisin' the little guy."

"My money's on it being a girl, handsome," a woman with dark hair and piercing green eyes said from the other end of the bar. "You wouldn't want to lose a lady like me 20 dollars, would'ja?"

Before Ichigo could start playing the game of words as old as language itself, Urahara cut back in and fixed the amber-eyed gunslinger with a look that told him to pay attention.

"Now, just because I can't ride out with ya, that doesn't mean I'm gonna let you go get your head blown off. Before you leave here, I plan on teaching you how to shoot straight."

His pride felt the sting and Ichigo prickled up worse than an agitated hyena, his reply coming out in a growl.

"Are you insinuating that I can't shoot straight, Urahara?"

The gray-eyed gunslinger, however, was completely unmoved by the young man's change in attitude.

"How many shots it take for you to bring a man down, Ichigo?" he asked, and the fire in the orange-haired gunslinger's eyes dimmed a bit.

"Two," he replied after a few heartbeats of silence. "Three, max."

Kisuke chuckled, readjusting his hat and rising.

"Yes, Ichigo," he spoke, "I'm saying you can't shoot straight. Your pops, in his prime, could fell a man from 40 paces with a single shot. Sometimes, he wouldn't even have to fire at all; they'd hear him pull back the hammer and those pussies would run for their lives. Come on, kid," the blond-haired man said, walking towards the back door and motioning for Ichigo to follow him,

"Let's make your daddy proud."

* * *

Ichigo stepped out into the dew-covered field and looked around, taking in Yoruichi and six paper bull's-eyes that had been nailed to posts.

"So, you want me to shoot those targets there, Kisuke?" Kurosaki asked, and Urahara shook his head with a smile.

"No, Ichigo," he said, his voice an amused lilt, "not yet. That's Lesson Two. Yoruichi over there's gonna teach ya Lesson One, and I suggest you pay close attention."

The orange-haired gunslinger's eyes widened skeptically as he regarded the purple-haired woman, who currently had a gun holstered at each of her hips.

"No offense meant to your lady, Kisuke," Ichigo said, turning to face the gray-eyed gunslinger once again, "but what can Yoruichi possibly—"

The question was cut off by a gunshot, and the young Kurosaki found himself suddenly bereft of a hat. He watched in shock as four more bullets ripped through the article of clothing before it came to rest on the ground, a tattered, shredded mess.

"Lesson One, Ichigo," Shihoin spoke out in a clear tone, "don't ever, _ever_ make any assumptions about someone based on how they look. I've seen someone with one goddamn arm take down five men before they could even draw on her, and that's just one example."

"That was a new hat…" the young Kurosaki groaned, and the golden-eyed gunslinger put a final bullet through it with a satisfied smirk.

"Point taken," Ichigo shot back drolly. "The next time I see a blind man with one leg and one arm, I'll be sure to shoot first and ask questions later."

Yoruichi chuckled, before holstering her gun and walking back inside.

"Pound some humility into this cocky little bastard, won'tcha, sweetheart?" she called over her shoulder, and when Urahara grinned all the orange-haired young man could do was shiver.

"Okay, Ichigo," Kisuke spoke, his tone relaxed, "now that your emasculation is out of the way, we can get to work on re-attaching that pair of balls you just lost to Yoruichi."

Ichigo frowned, and was about to draw one of his guns when he suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of a cocked, ready and waiting revolver. The gun had a polished silver body and a pure white grip streaked with red lines that shimmered and shifted in the morning sunlight, like actual streaks of moving blood.

"I wouldn't reach for your iron if I were you, boy," Kisuke said, his tone suddenly much sharper than it had been before. "Benihime here ain't got no qualms about putting lead into anything or anyone, even you. So simmer the fuck down and let me finish."

The orange-haired gunslinger moved his hand away from his gun's grip, thoroughly chastised. Urahara nodded, his deep gray eyes flickering with untold power.

"Good. Now, since we've already established that your marksmanship is shit, we just have to find out why that's the case. When I say 'Go', I want you to draw your gun, take aim, and shoot a bullet through each of the targets' centers before I do the same."

Ichigo's cockiness returned as he smirked at the challenge, letting his hand come to hover naturally over the grip of his gun and turning to face the targets.

"Go!"

The young Kurosaki drew his revolver and began putting slugs into the targets, but before he'd even gotten halfway done his gun was the only one still making noise. Looking over, Ichigo saw Urahara holstering his weapon with a flourish and opening his eyes. The orange-haired gunslinger looked over the targets and saw his holes well outside the centers, while another hole had been made at the dead center of each target.

Kisuke had nailed each one, and the bastard had done it with his eyes closed.

"Let me see those things you call your guns, Ichigo," the gray-eyed man called out, and Kurosaki tossed him his pair of revolvers, a set of guns he'd lifted from a thug dumb enough to try and rob him a few months back.

"Well, no wonder you can't shoot right," Urahara said plainly. "These things are piles of horseshit." Tossing the guns up into the air, he drew his other, loaded revolver and shattered the guns into pitiful fragments with six cold, precise shots.

"Hey!" Ichigo shouted, "What the fuck was that for? Those were my guns, you prick!"

Rather than be angry with the impudent outburst, Kisuke just sighed.

"No, Ichigo," he said wearily, as if he was teaching the same lesson for a fourth time, "those were not your guns. If they had been, you'd at least've hit the bull's-eye on all six of those targets, even if it took you longer than me and you had to use your eyes. No, those were the irons of some two-bit, good-for-nothing shit-stain, and you were just taking 'em for a spin.

"Every person is different, Ichigo," Urahara continued, "which is why the same gun won't shoot quite the same for any two people. You've got a pair of guns just waitin' to settle into your hands; you just haven't found 'em yet. Who the hell taught you to shoot, by the way? Judging by how sloppy your form was, it certainly wasn't your old man," the gray-eyed cowboy said, and Kurosaki bit back the urge to take a swing at his godfather.

"Some guys I met while I was on the trail for Yuzu and Karin," he answered. "Outlaws, real scruffy bandit-types."

"Figures," Kisuke grumbled. "That's one more thing I'm gonna have to teach you, Ichigo, but first thing's first," he finished, starting to walk once again and motioning for his student to follow him,

"We're gonna go get you a new set of guns."

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did, **please review**! Next chapter, Ichigo's going to get a new pair of irons, Kisuke's gonna teach him how to use 'em and a new arrival stumbles into Karakura who changes everything. Oh, and in case any of you were wondering, the woman that talks to Ichigo briefly at the bar is no one important, I just felt like putting that little exchange in there.


	3. Not Just A Pretty Face

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach, or any of its characters. Tite Kubo does.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 3:** Not Just A Pretty Face

* * *

Rukia Kuchiki woke up to greet the dawn, and as she took in the slowly-spreading sunlight and the musical chirps of the birds fluttering through the trees, something very rare happened.

She smiled. Not one of those formal, 'Oh, yes, I'm so pleased to meet you that I have to control myself to keep from belting you in the gut' forced smiles she would get whenever her brother decided to treat her like a bargaining chip and introduced yet another suitor into her life. No, this was a real, unrestrained, shit-eating grin. Because Rukia Kuchiki wasn't waking up to the sight of the elegant, gilded cage she called her room. This was the great outdoors, where she truly belonged.

Where she could be free, if only for a fewhours.

Stretching out her tired limbs, Rukia's smile faded faster than smoke from a gun barrel when she felt a cool, metal object shift against the bare skin of her chest underneath her shirt. Biting back a sigh, the young woman reached down and pulled the object out into the sunlight. It was a golden ring, attached to a fine silver chain that hung around her neck. This rather small piece of jewelry was Rukia's most prized possession, even more precious to her than her pair of revolvers: it was her wedding ring.

Her husband had held one just like it, once, and he had been buried with it hidden in his pocket. Rukia hadn't dared to show her face at the service; she and Kaien had been married in secret. Even her brother was still ignorant of the whole affair, far as the young woman knew. They'd been happy together for a time, Kaien Shiba and Rukia Kuchiki. Until the night that a rowdy, drunken thug who fancied himself a gunfighter had swaggered up to Shiba, drawn his revolver and put a bullet right between Kaien's eyes before the young man had a chance to defend himself.

Rumor had it that the thug started bragging 'bout what he'd done, and shortly thereafter got a visit from a woman with long, dark black hair, one arm and death shining in her sea-green eyes. But the fact that her lover had been avenged didn't matter to Rukia Kuchiki. No amount of blood shed in vengeance or Kuchiki money spent on whiskey could heal her broken heart, which felt as cold as the ring Rukia now pressed to her lips reverently, blinking back a stray tear.

A second later, the young woman heard a twig snapping a few paces off. Rukia's nerves gripped her and she took the ring off of the chain, slipping it into her pocket. Reaching down to where she usually wore her revolvers when she decided to slip out from under her brother's prying eyes and go on one of these excursions, the young Kuchiki found herself gripping nothing but air. Looking over, she saw that they were lying on the ground, pearled grips gleaming in the sun almost as brightly as the snow-white bodies to which they were attached. As she moved to reach towards them, Rukia's horse whinnied sharply and started up onto its hindlegs. The sudden noise shocked Rukia into diving towards her pair of firearms, which wound up saving her life.

A pair of bullets whizzed right by where her head had been moments before, and another trio of rounds brought her horse tumbling to the ground. Unfortunately for the Kuchiki heiress, her faithful mount chose to fall right on top of her, just as her slender hands had closed around her revolvers' grips.

"God fucking _damnit_!" Rukia spat out as pain coursed through her and her head reeled from the impact, proudly shattering every image of the proper, cultured lady everyone probably thought her to be. One didn't hang around with Kaien Shiba and not pick up a few choice words, after all.

"Well, well, boys," a voice crowed out, "look what we have here. This fine piece of tail fancied herself a right frontierswoman! Ain't that so, lil 'un?"

Rukia looked up and glared daggers at the source of the voice, which belonged to a thin, wiry and slippery looking snake of a bastard, with sickly eyes the color of the devil's own piss.

"Go to hell, you cocksucker," she spat, and the man looked shocked for a moment before his eyes widened in mirth.

"This bitch's got a mouth on her, boys!" he called out, and his two partners cackled like jackals. "You as feisty between the sheets as you are right now, honey?" the man cooed, moving in close enough for Rukia to be able to smell the alcohol on his breath. As he inched closer and closer to her face, the young Kuchiki fought down her revulsion and waited for the right moment. Just when he was about to close the gap between them completely, the violet-eyed spitfire lunged forward and dug her teeth into his cheek. As the man leapt back in shock and howled in rage, Rukia noted with grim satisfaction that he attack had left two deep, bloody gashes in the thug's cheek that would most certainly scar over.

"You cunt!" the man seethed out, pressing the palm of one of his greasy hands to the wound to slow the bleeding. A few heartbeats later, though, the rage in his eyes had mingled with something in between lust and primal brutality.

"You know," the man began as he advanced again, warier this time but still predatory, "I was real torn up when Renji decided to leave our band and go straight, but now I'm startin' to see the upside to his absence. 'Cause if he were here, he'd probably tell us to let you go, and look for marketable people elsewhere. But since that self-righteous punk Abarai ain't with us no more, that means I get to do whatever I want to ya. Y'all don't object, do ya, boys?"

"Go right ahead, Seth," one of them called out.

"As long's we get our turn, I don't give a damn what you do to 'er!" the other one joined in, and the ringleader's smile widened.

"Well, that takes care of that," he said lowly, stalking closer to his prey. "Let's get this horse offa you and see what you can do, bitch. You better make me satisfied, too, elsewise I'll give you a much meaner scar than the marks you gave me."

The thug heaved and shoved, eventually rolling the carcass off of his would-be screw for the afternoon. Rather than finding a meek, easily subdued young woman, though, the slaver found himself staring at two loaded, primed revolvers being aimed expertly by a pair of cold violet eyes. Pulling both of the triggers before Seth could move out of the way, Rukia hit him twice in the chest and sprung to her feet as the body fell to the ground. Spitting on it disdainfully when it landed, the young Kuchiki glared hatefully at the corpse of her attacker.

"Satisfied, you bastard?" she growled, before turning her eyes to the two frightened men in front of her.

"Who's next?" she hissed, and the men put up their guns in a gesture of surrender. Before she could act, however, Rukia was stopped cold by the feeling of a gun barrel being pressed up against the back of her head.

"Drop'em, bitch," a cold voice spoke. "No sudden moves, an' keep your hands where I can see 'em."

The young Kuchiki did as she was told, swallowing the bile forming in her mouth as she saw her precious firearms fall to the ground. They had been a wedding gift from Kaien, and he had taught her how to handle them; seeing them soiled by the blood seeping out of that bastard's chest was almost too much to bear.

"You two yellow-bellied fucks come over here and pick up those irons," the man ordered, and the two thugs who had shown up with the now dearly departed Seth suddenly found their second wind and scuttled forwards, grabbing one gun each like they were holding a live rattlesnake.

"That, gentlemen," the voice said as it shifted from behind Rukia to coming from her left, "is why you never play your full hand from the get-go. I offer you my thanks, woman," the man continued as he came into view, sliding his gun barrel over to rest on Rukia's forehead as he stepped in front of her eyes. "Seth was a rotten fucking piece of scum, and my band is better off without him."

"What's your name?" Rukia asked as calmly as she could, and the man raised a surprisingly elegant brown eyebrow.

"Why do you ask?"

Kuchiki's eyes narrowed murderously.

"So that when I kill you, I know what to carve into your fucking tombstone."

The man's dark eyes sparkled and he laughed, brushing a few strands of brown hair from his face with his free hand.

"I like you, woman," the man said, "you got some spunk in ya. Seth was right, Renji would've let you go. Always did have a soft spot for iron belles like yourself, he did. The name's Rikichi," he continued. "What's yours?"

"Rukia."

"Ain't got a last name, Rukia?"

"I have two," the young woman replied calmly, "but I could never decide which one to use, so I threw 'em both out for simplicity's sake."

"Fair enough," Rikichi sighed, before pistol-whipping Rukia in the temple and catching her as she crumpled, unconscious.

"Sorry to take you down like this, kid," Rikichi said softly as he slung the young woman over his horse, "but that's how it's gotta be. At least be thankful that I know how to do it without leaving any permanent scars: nobody wants to buy damaged goods."

Turning to his two comrades, Rikichi motioned for them to mount up.

"Karakura's a few hours from here," he said. "If we dig our spurs, we can make it a bit before the market opens up and get the prime spot."

"What'll we do if Renji shows up, boss?"

Rikichi's eyes darkened at the thought of his former friend-turned enemy.

"If that red-haired bastard shows his face, I'll deal with him the way I should'a done the moment he parted ways with us. The Silver Dragonflies are not to be trifled with, gentlemen, and I will personally reinforce that knowledge upon our former brother if need be. Now shut your fucking traps and ride."

"Yes, sir!" the pair chorused, and the trio of riders shot off towards Karakura, ignorant of just who it was they were carrying with them.

* * *

The first thing Ichigo was greeted with when he entered the gunsmith's shop was a string of profanity that would come to be characteristic of its female speaker.

"Damnit, Ganju, you good-for-nothing ass! I asked for hot water, did I not? _Hot_ water. Does this feel like hot fucking water to you? Huh?!"

The sound of a bucket of water being dumped on someone's head sounded throughout the room, and the young Kurosaki flinched in sympathy for whoever that poor sonofabitch was.

"N—No, sis," a man's timid voice replied.

"That's what I thought," the woman shot back. "Great," she continued, grousing, "now you made me empty the whole fucking bucket. Go and get another one, and it better be hot enough to scald the hide off of a bull, or I swear to fucking God I'll throw you out on your ass by sundown!"

"Who's that?" Ichigo asked, his voice already cowed even though he hadn't even laid eyes on the speaker yet.

"That would be Kuukaku Shiba," Kisuke said, sparks of amusement dancing behind his gray eyes. "She's Karakura's resident gunsmith. Go on, Ichigo. She won't bite… much."

The young Kurosaki walked forward into the dim, smoky light of the smithy and stood apprehensively in front of Kuukaku, who was currently bent over a glowing-hot anvil and pounding a slab of red-hot, malleable iron with a hammer. After a few awkward moments, the woman stopped pounding and looked up, locking her fierce gaze on Ichigo.

"You gonna stand there all day, soldier," she spoke gruffly, "or are you gonna stop wasting my precious time an' say something?"

The orange-haired gunslinger cleared his throat and set his feet, meeting the sharp pair of green eyes with a smoldering glare of his own.

"I need a pair of guns," he said evenly, "and I hear you're the one that makes 'em."

Kuukaku's eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to take the measure of Ichigo's very soul.

"And why should I do something like that?" she asked. "I can tell you'd use 'em for nothing but killing, kid, and I'm done having blood on my hands."

"You don't understand, ma'am," Ichigo parried, his voice a barely-restrained growl. "Something very precious was snatched from me, and I need to get it back. To do that," he repeated, his voice growing harsher by the word, "I need a pair of guns, and I hear you're the one that makes 'em."

Despite the strength of his words, Shiba was unfazed.

"And what did a young colt like you lose already," she cynically replied, "that's stoked the fire of revenge in your heart?"

Ichigo's amber eyes blazed hotter than the red coals crackling in the forge as he replied.

"My family."

The words were spoken with such conviction, such bitterness, that even Kuukaku was taken back with shock for a moment before righting herself.

"What's your name, boy?" the gunsmith asked, her gaze softening ever so slightly as she regarded the young man in front of her.

"Ichigo Kurosaki, ma'am."

A heartbeat later, Kuukaku's demeanor changed entirely: it was as if a big boulder that had been keeping a lid on her emotions rolled away, and a smile spread slowly across her face.

"Ah, I see it now," she spoke, stepping forward and looking keenly at Ichigo's face. "You don't have his hair or his eyes, but you got your old man's thunder in your veins, that much is certain. I take it you're out to avenge his death, Ichigo?"

The young Kurosaki shook his head.

"No," he replied, "I'm not."

Kuukaku raised a skeptical eyebrow at that.

"No? Then what do you need iron for, if not to fill up empty graves?"

"My father made me swear not to shed blood on his account," Ichigo explained, "but those motherfuckers that shot my family down took my little sisters away from me on the day they put two slugs in my chest. I don't care who or what gets in my way, but I'm gonna find my kin and I'm gonna save 'em. Then I'm gonna find the ones that took 'em, and I'm going to put those bastards in the ground sure as I draw breath right now."

The gunsmith gazed at Ichigo for another long moment, before sighing and closing her eyes.

"All right," she said, "I'll make your fucking guns. But promise me somethin' in return, Ichigo."

"Name it."

"When your job is done, promise me you'll take these irons and put 'em down for good."

Kurosaki smiled grimly, extending his hand.

"I believe we have an accord, ma'am."

Kuukaku grasped his hand in kind, mirroring his smile. Then, once she had relaxed her grip, she swung her fist forward and punched Ichigo right in the jaw.

"What the fuck!?" Ichigo shouted as he gripped his bruising face. "What was that for?"

Rather than reply, Kuukaku struck again and again, each time attacking from a different direction. After the orange-haired young man had barely succeeded in blocking what felt like the twentieth strike, the gunsmith suddenly stopped. Gasping, Ichigo gathered what was left of his wits and spoke.

"Why the hell'd you do that, woman?" he snarled. "I thought you were supposed to make guns, not beat me to a pulp!"

The sea green-eyed Shiba just chuckled, walking over to her forge.

"I ain't making just any guns, Ichigo," she called out. "I'm making _your_ guns. I had to figure out how you reacted, how you moved, what your rhythm was. Otherwise the guns won't fit right, and I'll be fucked if I make anything other'n a damn masterpiece."

The woman's tone told him not to argue under any circumstances, so Ichigo shut up and sat down, still dazed and nursing his bruised jaw.

"If it's any consolation, Ichigo," Urahara's voice called out as he walked over, "every person Kuukaku's ever forged a gun for has gone through that exact same thing. Even your dad."

"Really?" the young Kurosaki asked with a small chuckle, and Kuukaku spoke up from her position by the forge.

"How d'you think he got that scar on his chin, kid? That was the patented Shiba right cross!"

The orange-haired gunslinger frowned in confusion.

"He said he got that in a barfight."

Both Kisuke and Kuukaku broke into laughter at the claim.

"Of course Isshin would say that," Shiba replied. "He'd have preferred facing a chargin' bull head-on with his bare hands to admittin' he let a woman wail on him for his guns. Oi, Ganju," she shouted, turning her gaze to the backdoor, "get'cher lazy ass over here!"

Over the next few hours, Urahara saw to Ichigo's bruises while Kuukaku saw to forging Ichigo's guns. After what felt like an eternity to the young Kurosaki, Kuukaku put down her hammer and sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Just gimme about a half-hour to put on the finishing touches and we should be in business," the gunsmith said as she lowered the guns into the cold water to cool them, the barrels emerging midnight-black in color. Ichigo's eyes widened in awe even as he saw the incomplete weapon, and something in his blood seemed to respond instinctively to the metal.

When a half an hour had come and gone Kuukaku stood in front of Ichigo, holding the matching weapons by the barrels and presenting the dark silver grips to the young gunslinger. Ichigo felt a tingle shoot up his arm when he took hold of the guns, marveling silently at how well they fit into his hands.

"The barrels came out a bit long, so these're heavier than your normal revolver," Kuukaku explained as Ichigo looked over every inch of his new irons, "but you'll get great stopping power out of these vicious little bastards, that's for sure. This is only the second time the gun's body has come out a color other than silver," Shiba added, "and that other pair was something else, so I know this one'll be special, too."

"What color were they?" Ichigo asked. "The other revolvers, I mean. The other pair you fashioned."

"White," Kuukaku answered, her voice getting unusually sentimental. "A pure white, whiter than the snow. My brother asked me to make 'em for someone special to him, about a month before he passed. Sode no Shirayuki, their name is, or so Kaien told me after he heard their owner name 'em. To this day, though," she finished, her voice returning to normal, "I have no idea who Kaien gave those guns to."

"So, what're mine named?" Ichigo asked, and the gunsmith shrugged.

"Fuck if I know, kid," she said. "They're your guns; you tell me."

Ichigo looked down at one of the revolvers now resting on his outstretched palm, quietly watching the way the light glinted off of its surface and listening to the subtle hum it seemed to give off as it rested, thrumming in time with his heartbeat.

"Zangetsu," the young Kurosaki said suddenly but with conviction, in a voice that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him. "Their name is Zangetsu."

"That's a strong name," Urahara commented, before clapping Ichigo on the shoulder and motioning with his head towards the door.

"C'mon, kid," he said, "it's been a long morning, and Yoruichi wanted us to scope out the markets before goin' back to the Black Cat. They're just about to open, so let's get there soon as we can. The quicker we finish that up, the quicker I can start gettin' hammered."

Ichigo raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you be staying off the bottle, bein' an expecting father an' all?"

Kisuke chuckled as he answered.

"Where'd you get that nuts idea, Ichigo?" the gray-eyed man said. "Yoruichi's the one who has to stay sober, so I'm drinkin' for the both of us. Now hurry up," he finished,

"We have some sightseeing to go do downtown."

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter, things start getting real interesting as a certain orange-haired gunfighter and a violet-eyed spitfire of an heiress meet for the first time. That, and Renji meets up with some old friends of his, causing everything to decide to pack up and go straight to hell. Should be fun.

Also, I noticed while editing this that the concept of Zangetsu being a (more or less) purely black gun and Sode no Shirayuki being a (more or less) purely white gun shows up as well in the story "Lock and Load" by Scarlett Letter. This similarity is purely coincidental (and plot-necessitated besides), but I thought I'd mention it to both give that story a shout-out and to prevent people from thinking I stole from it.


	4. Dead Men Walking

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach. Tite Kubo does.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 4: **Dead Men Walking

* * *

"So, Ichigo," Urahara said with a grand wave of his arm, "see anything you like?"

The young Kurosaki's sharp amber eyes swept over the available 'merchandise' with an outward calm, but he couldn't keep a sickly feeling from knotting in his stomach at the whole concept of the flesh trade. Buying and selling human lives like cattle just felt wrong, but at least he'd been put slightly at ease by his godfather's reassurance that Yoruichi always treated her gals like real people, not property. At the very least, life with her would be better than traveling from town to town in a cramped wagon, waiting for someone to name a good price for your head.

While Ichigo was surveying the girls on display, the two henchmen of the Silver Dragonfly gang furtively approached their boss.

"He's here, Rikichi," one of them said.

"I saw him over near the saloon, boss," the other chimed in. "It's definitely Renji. What're we gonna do?"

"Relax, you pussies," the ringleader scoffed, flicking his newest cigarette butt into the dirt and grinding it out with his boot-heel. "I've got everything taken care of. Word's already going around of a fifty-dollar bounty on the guy with the bright-colored hair."

"Why don't you just say who it is, boss?" one of the henchmen asked, and Rikichi backhanded him a heartbeat later, scowling.

"Because if I say the man they're hunting is Renji Abarai, it'll take a lot more than fifty dollars to convince the average money-hungry drunk to take the fucking job," he hissed lowly. "But if they don't know ahead of time, they're only gonna find out either after they've put a bullet through the fucker, or they're bleeding out on the ground. Either we win or we don't lose anything, and none of us have to lift a finger."

"That's genius, boss!" the other man commented, and received a slap for his trouble in kind.

"Shut the fuck up, you sycophantic worm," Rikichi shot back, scanning the crowd for any sign of Renji and finding none. Exhaling, the boss of the Silver Dragonflies let himself relax. Unfortunately for Rikichi, his state of calm only lasted for a few moments before it was broken by a rant from off to his right.

"Rikichi, you goddamn son of a whore," Rukia snarled, straining against the ropes that had her bound upright against a stake, "pray to whatever devil your rotten hide believes in that you don't sell me today, because I swear on my sister's grave I will hunt you down and rip your fucking throat out with my teeth."

The brown-eyed man didn't flinch or blink at the tirade. He merely smiled wickedly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden ring, holding it aloft in the light of the noonday sun.

"Tell me, Rukia," he said with an undercurrent of venom in his voice, "who gave you this ring?"

The young Kuchiki saw her sacred golden band in the hands of the loathsome thug and wanted to gnash her teeth, to bark and howl like a wounded wolf at the theft of what might as well have been her own beating heart. But to break down and weep would be a sign of weakness, and she would rather die than bow her head to this slimy piece of shit. So Rukia summoned up every ounce of restraint that Byakuya had pounded into her skull, staying as tranquil as still water when she replied.

"That was a gift from my brother," she lied. The young Kuchiki knew that if they found out it was a wedding ring, the odds of her being sold dropped sharply, as did her odds of being something other than food for the vultures. After all, whether or not a young woman was a virgin made or broke their value on the open market, and Rukia was far from a blushing maiden.

"Your brother, huh?" Rikichi echoed, his voice unconvinced. "Where is he now?"

"In the ground," Rukia answered as traitorous unshed tears seared the corners of her eyes, hotter than a sizzling cattle brand. The ringleader barked out a laugh.

"Well, then," he said, slipping the ring into his pocket, "I suppose he won't mind if I keep this, along with your guns."

The thought of having everything she had left of Kaien being stripped away from her as she was sold into glorified slavery snapped something inside of Rukia Kuchiki, and she began to thrash so hard that blood seeped from her wrists as the ropes bit down into the tender flesh beneath them.

"You motherfucking blackhearted sonofabitch!" she raved, her eyes wide with something between hopelessness and lunacy. "I'll gouge out your fucking eyeballs!"

Rikichi responded to the tirade by dolling out a vicious backhand slap to the cheek of the young Kuchiki, the ring on his right hand leaving a bruise.

"Oops," he mused as Rukia deflated and began to cry slow, silent tears, "looks like I overdid it. Oh well, guess no one'll buy ya, now that you've got that shiner on your cheek. Might just have to take you out to pasture come sundown, Rukia, an' put you out of your misery—"

"I'll buy her."

The violet-eyed young woman could scarcely believe the words she had just heard, raising her head up slowly to see what angel of mercy had just spoken them. When she saw the face in front of her, blurred slightly by her tears, Rukia's heart stopped cold.

"K—Kaien?" she breathed out, shocked, and Ichigo raised a curious eyebrow at the name he had heard earlier in the day.

"No, miss," Kurosaki said, politely inclining his new hat and hoping it didn't somehow get shot full of holes like all of its predecessors. "My name's Ichigo, Ichigo Kurosaki."

Rukia blinked away her tears and got a better look at the young man before her, realizing why she'd been mistaken as her expanding heart got a spur in it and deflated once again. The kid looked about her age, and could have passed for a younger version of Kaien almost exactly. If, that was, his eyes were a mild sea-green rather than that piercing amber color and his hair was a rich black rather than the obnoxiously loud orange shade that peeked out from underneath his hat. He was so much like Kaien it made Rukia's heart ache, but at the same time he seemed so different as well; from the way he carried himself to the way he looked at her, it was as if her angel of mercy had turned into some shape shifting devil, sent to torment her in a moment of weakness. But whichever he was, angel or devil, one thing was for certain: Rukia couldn't tear her eyes away from him if her life depended on it.

"You sure you want this one, boy?" Rikichi asked, turning his attention away from his merchandise and towards his potential customer. "This bitch's got quite the bite; killed one of my best men when we scooped her up."

Ichigo forced down the urge to try out Zangetsu for the first time by blowing this bastard's balls to kingdom come for having the temerity to hit a woman, and a defenseless one besides. He took a calming breath, hoping that his rage didn't seep through in his reply.

"I ain't got no problem with a little spitfire now and then," the orange-haired gunslinger replied, smiling slyly at Rukia in an attempt to ease her mind. "Keeps things lively."

Something in the violet-eyed young woman's blood lurched at his voice and that smile, so familiar yet different, comforting yet enticingly dangerous. What was going on here? Why was she feeling like this all of a sudden? No man had been able to make her so much as shiver since Kaien had passed on, and now this kid was making her heart speed up with a word and a look?

"Well, if her temperament and the temporary skin discolorations don't bother ya, I suppose I could let her go for, oh," Rikichi gave an oily smirk as he began the haggling rites, "about 3,000."

Both Urahara and Rukia balked at the hefty sum, but Ichigo was unmoved.

"Done."

"What?" all three of the observers asked, in varying tones of shock. Rikichi was stunned that he'd actually gotten this cursed cunt to sell for that much, Urahara was wondering how he was going to explain to Yoruichi that, yes, they _had_ blown the entire day's market bankroll on a single girl and Rukia was torn between wanting to kiss this young man for his astounding generosity and wanting to blow his infuriatingly smug face away with her revolver. Or maybe she'd just do both.

"I said, I'll take her for 3,000," Ichigo reiterated slowly, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a pouch. It was what was left of the money he'd amassed over his time on the road looking for his sisters, all in gold. "That sum should about do it, I believe."

Rikichi took the pouch gingerly and weighed it before tucking it into his jacket, pulling out a long knife and cutting Rukia free of her bonds.

"Pleasure doin' business with you, good sir," the ringleader spoke smoothly, and Ichigo had to bite back his desire to let loose with a storm of curses that would make Kuukaku blush.

"Likewise," he said, extending his hand and shaking Rikichi's offered hand much harder than was needed, noting with grim satisfaction that the brown-eyed bastard winced as they separated.

"Now," the head of the Silver Dragonflies said once a moment had passed between them, "if you could just hang tight for a moment here, one of my assistants will brand this bitch for you."

Ichigo's eyes widened in revulsion at the notion and Rukia's narrowed in hatred, but between the two of them it was the young Kuchiki that broke the silence.

"What the hell did you just call me, cocksucker?" she seethed, and Rikichi made to strike her again before finding the barrel of a very large, very intimidating and very loaded gun hovering right in front of his left eye.

"You call the lady a name like that again, and I'll kill ya," Ichigo hissed, thumbing back the hammer. "You try to mark her skin with any kind of brand, and I'll kill ya. Hell," he finished ominously, his frown deepening, "if I see your ugly fucking mug ever again, I'll kill ya. Do we understand each other, bastard?"

Rikichi stayed calm, but hatred smoldered brightly in his brown eyes.

"We understand each other, boy," the ringleader said, calling off his associates with a pointed glance. Ichigo holstered his revolver with a spin, savoring the perfectly balanced feel of the gun in his hand for a moment before turning to the young woman he had forked over his savings for.

"Come on, miss," he said, laying a hand gently on her shoulder to try and calm her nerves. The gesture had the opposite affect, though, and Rukia jerked away like Ichigo had vipers for fingers.

"Don't fucking touch me," she spat, instantly regretting how harshly it had come out and how the young man seemed to wall himself up, any warmth in his bright eyes curling into a ball and dying at her words.

"'Scuse me for giving two shits," he huffed, turning his gaze away from her. Rukia felt like something inside of her had been torn away when those amber eyes left her violet ones, but squashed that seedling of longing with an iron fist. She was Rukia Kuchiki, god damn it, and the only man she felt this way about was Kaien Shiba.

Those thoughts promptly faded into the background when the young woman blinked and noticed that a pair of razor-sharp gray eyes was peering into her own, somehow slicing away barrier after barrier and laying bare her most cherished secrets.

"Well, Ichigo," the man who had been staring so intently at her said, shifting his gaze away from Rukia and towards the orange-haired young man, "I'll be damned. Looks like your king's ransom's bought you a princess."

Kurosaki turned back around, but made a point of fixing his gaze solely on Urahara.

"What're you blabbering about, Kisuke?"

The blond-haired gunslinger smiled, tipping his hat towards Rukia.

"This charming young lady's name is Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki, to be exact."

It took a moment for the name to fully sink into Ichigo's head, but when it had his eyes snapped open faster than if he'd been shot.

"K—Kuchiki?" he repeated numbly. "As in, _the_ Kuchiki?"

"That's right," the gray-eyed man confirmed, his smile widening. "One of the wealthiest families around. How Byakuya's lil' sister got all the way out here, though, I have no fucking idea. Care to explain yourself, kid?" Kisuke asked, turning his piercing eyes back to a shocked Rukia.

"How do you know my brother?" she asked hesitantly, and Urahara shrugged.

"Fought some battles with him, saved his hide a few times and he returned the favor. He can be a right prickly bastard at times, but he's got a good heart underneath that brass."

Rukia gave a scornful laugh, incapable of seeing how anything Byakuya had ever done had been out of the goodness of his heart. Even though he was her goddamn kin, he'd never once asked her whom she wanted to marry. No, it was always what was "best for the family," or "for her own good," like the asshole actually knew what was good for her.

"Well, fuck me," Ichigo breathed out, still getting over the revelation. "What're we gonna do with her?"

"That's not my problem," Kisuke said with a wide smile and an equally cheery voice. "She's yours now, Ichigo, bought and paid for. I'm gonna go scope out the rest of the stock, since you so generously spared me my stake by payin' out of your own pocket. See ya back at the Cat!" he called out in parting, fairly skipping away as he left.

"That rotten, two-faced, good-for-nothing little…argh!" Ichigo grunted, cutting his rant off just prior to the kicker. Before he could even open his mouth to speak to his new 'acquisition', though, the young Kurosaki found himself the target of a frighteningly intense gaze courtesy of one thoroughly pissed-off Rukia Kuchiki.

"Let's get something straight right here and now, cowboy," she seethed. "If you think that just because you have a Bill of Sale with my name on it you can take me behind the nearest building, throw me up against the wall and screw my brains out, you've got another fucking thing coming to ya."

Ichigo seemed taken aback by the tirade at first, but then his eyes sparked with amusement and a decidedly mischievous smirk crossed his face.

"I'll say this much, darlin'," he replied, voice smug. "For someone so adverse to the activity, you sure seemed quite keen on it just now."

Rukia's eyes widened in shock as she realized what the young man in front of her was daring to even insinuate, before they narrowed in rage and she struck out. She had been meaning to slap him, but was surprised to find her quick hand held gently but firmly in an even faster one, a hand that belonged to the infuriating bastard who called himself Ichigo Kurosaki.

"That was fast, Rukia," he commented after a low whistle of appreciation, "very fast. Still," he qualified with that insufferable smirk on his face once again, "not fast enough. You ever handle a gun?"

"Go fuck yourself," she hissed, both infuriated that this bastard had dared to be so crude to her and not wanting to admit that yes, she had a pair of revolvers, but that they had been stripped from her.

"Where'd a princess like you get a tongue like that?" Kurosaki asked, shaking his head in wonder. "You'd make Kuukaku Shiba blush, Rukia, and that's sayin' something."

The young Kuchiki lost most of her breath at the mention of the name 'Shiba', but kept the effect it had on her well hidden.

"You know Kuukaku Shiba?" she asked as calmly as she could, and Ichigo nodded.

"Sure do," he answered. "She's the one that made these irons for me, matter of fact," the gunslinger elaborated, drawing one out of its holster and presenting the grip smoothly to Rukia, which she took gently. It didn't escape Ichigo's sharp eyes the way she looked over every inch of the weapon, taking in the lines and curves of it like an experienced gunfighter would. To top it off, Rukia raised the firearm sharply, took aim at a nearby sign that had been nailed to a post and pulled the trigger, a smoking hole appearing in the center of the flyer a half-second later. The princess then spun it around with a flourish and handed the gun back to Ichigo, the look on her face unreadable.

"It's strong, no doubt about that," she commented after a moment, "but it's also stubborn as a bull and has a recoil just as fierce. It fits you quite perfectly, Mister Kurosaki," she finished snarkily, and Ichigo frowned.

"Don't call me 'Mister Kurosaki," he said. "That was my pops. Call me Ichigo. Hey," he added after a moment's pause, his tone lighter now, "you fancy a shot of whiskey, Rukia?"

The violet-eyed woman shrugged.

"Why not?" she answered. "I could use a drink or six right now."

Ichigo smiled widely, beginning to walk towards the Black Cat as the young Kuchiki fell in step beside him.

"You know, Rukia," he spoke after a few moments, "you're the oddest princess I think I've ever met."

"I believe I'll take that as a compliment, Ichigo," she replied, the smallest of smiles gracing her lips before vanishing as quickly as it had come.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the market, Rikichi was fairly shaking with rage at the way his pride had been wounded by that impudent pup. If only there was a way he could get him snuffed out as well without issuing another bounty…

"Um, 'scuse me, boss," one of his henchmen chimed in, "but won't this screw up your bounty on Renji from earlier?"

The ringleader raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"How so?"

"Because both Renji and the guy that bought that Rukia bitch have brightly-colored hair, chief!" the other one exclaimed, and a venomous smile slowly grew on Rikichi's face.

"Days like this, gentlemen," he said, "I'm reminded why I keep the two of you around at all. Go buy yourselves two drinks each, on me. And while you're at it, round those drunkards up into a proper gang. Make sure they're ripe and ready for some ambushing come sundown," he finished as he walked away.

Rikichi had a score to settle with an old friend, and it would be done as soon as the sun went down.

* * *

Rukia's appearance at the Black Cat seemed to kickstart Yoruichi's mothering instincts with a vengeance, and the attention the young Kuchiki was getting from the proprietor spread to the rest of the staff as well when she drank saloon champion Tetsuzaemon Iba under the table without flinching once. By the time talk of her record nine-shot string had spread to the rest of the saloon, the princess had become something of a celebrity.

Rukia was just happy that she could be who she _really was_ out here. Getting up and walking towards Ichigo, she was about to thank him for buying her from that wretched slaver when her violet eyes went wide, her legs swayed and she fell forward into Kurosaki's chest as nine shots of whiskey decided to all kick in at once. Amidst catcalls, whistles, whoops and hollers, Ichigo had proceeded to scoop the petite spitfire into his arms and carry her up to an empty room. As he laid her down on the bed, he couldn't help but marvel at how different the young Kuchiki looked when she was asleep.

Compared to the proud, sharp woman she had been for most of the morning and afternoon, here she looked calm, peaceful and, as Ichigo couldn't help but notice, incredibly beautiful. But Rukia was beautiful in the same way a roaring fire was beautiful; her kind of beauty seduced you with a siren song, seeming too exquisite to actually burn, until your heart was nothing but cinders and the goddess had moved on.

Ichigo was snapped out of his thoughts by a light breathy sound that seemed to pass for snoring as far as Rukia was concerned. He watched, enraptured, as she breathed in and out, each exhale blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face before the inhale brought it back over her forehead. Tearing his eyes away from the perfect rhythm of her chest as it rose and fell, the orange-haired gunslinger reached up and, with a gentle touch seemingly at odds with his weathered hand, gingerly brushed the strand back behind her ear. Rukia shifted slightly at the touch and sighed, a single word escaping her lips.

"Mm… Kaien…"

Ichigo snatched his hand away sharply, careful not to wake up the sleeping woman but angry enough for some inexplicable reason that his wrath showed in his reaction.

"You have got to be _fucking_ kidding," he growled lowly, walking briskly from the room and closing the door harder than he was accustomed to. Rukia stirred more this time, opening her eyes halfway and casting a haphazard glance around the room. Sitting up and sniffing the air, she could tell that someone else had been in the room just moments before. Thinking back despite the pounding in her head, the young Kuchiki remembered planning on thanking Ichigo for bringing her somewhere safe, but then she'd passed out on her feet…

"Ichigo?" she called out, but when there was no answer she shrugged her shoulders, sighed and laid back down to sleep, the strand of hair falling over her forehead once again.

On the other side of Rukia's closed door, a small smile formed on the lips of Ichigo Kurosaki before he turned around and walked down the stairs. Clearly Rukia had been seriously involved somehow with Kaien Shiba, but maybe, just maybe, he had a chance. Unable to get to sleep after such a tumultuous night, the orange-haired gunslinger strapped on his revolvers, put on his hat and went for a walk.

* * *

The streets were strangely empty, something that put Ichigo on edge immediately. The only person that seemed to be out besides him was that red-haired punk from the other day, and he seemed just as tense.

"Am I the only one who feels left outta somethin'?" Ichigo called out. The other gunslinger spun and drew his irons, before holstering them again as Ichigo put his hands up, palms-out, in a gesture of peace.

"I remember you," the red-haired gunslinger said after a moment, "you're the new guy."

"That's me," Ichigo answered as cordially as he could. "The name's Ichigo. Can I get yours, so I don't have to keep calling you 'asshole'?"

The other man chuckled, giving Kurosaki a sharp smile.

"I'm Renji," he answered. "And no, you aren't the only one who feels left outta somethin', Ichigo. Somethin' here stinks, but hell if I know what it is."

"Care for a little enlightenment, old friend?" a cold voice called out, and the pair of gunslingers drew both of their weapons as they spun to face the speaker. When the newcomer stepped out into the light, Renji's eyes narrowed to little more than slits of seething rage.

"Rikichi."

"It's been a while, Renji," the other man spoke, and both Renji and Ichigo kept their guns trained on the brown-eyed ringleader even as a group of ruffians emerged from the shadows and surrounded them. Various blunt objects clutched in their hands, they advanced and retreated like a pack of rabid wolves.

"You know, this is a bit of a shame," Rikichi continued, stepping forward as calmly as a man without a care in the world, while Ichigo and Renji soon found themselves pressed back-to-back. "I was originally just going to put Renji six feet under. But then you, kid... you had to go and be a fucking cowboy, swinging your dick around to impress that fucking whore. I can take a man listening to his other brain every now and then, but what I cannot fucking abide is when someone undercuts my sovereign fucking authority.

"Now be good boys and put up your guns, or I and my two comrades here riddle you full of holes where you stand."

Ichigo gave a bitter laugh.

"You do that, and everyone'll come running out here to see what the commotion is. You'll all be corpses before you can so much as fuckin' blink."

Rikichi stepped closer and the circle of thugs tightened, the ringleader's gun pointed squarely at Ichigo's forehead.

"Do I look like someone you want to test, boy?" Rikichi spat. "Besides, even if you kill me, you'll be a lifeless carcass before my body hits the dirt. So why don't you just make this easy for all of us and put away your guns?"

Ichigo grit his teeth, but did as he was told.

"Don't worry, Ichigo," Renji whispered from behind him, "When we get out of this, I swear I'll help you hunt these bastards down."

"Renji, Renji," Rikichi clucked patronizingly as he motioned for men to strip the pair of their gunbelts, "you're assuming you're going to be breathing by the time I'm done with you."

The ringleader struck first, smashing the butt of his revolver into the side of Ichigo's head. As the orange-haired gunslinger dropped to the ground, half of the pack of drunkards was on him like a swarm of locusts. They kicked and rained blows down on his body as Renji suffered the same fate, and after a few minutes the attackers backed away.

"We're done here," Rikichi said as he brushed some dirt from his jacket and grimaced at the sight of fresh blood on the new leather.

"Let's go," the ringleader continued commandingly. "Any one of you that has a horse, a gun and no scruples to speak of is more than welcome to join us. But please be quick about it; the last thing I want is for this to get sticky."

The outlaws backed away like hyenas leaving behind a pair of gutted corpses, and the flies began to circle a few minutes later as the sound of pounding hooves thundered off in the distance. One of the thugs got rowdy and discharged a pistol shot into the air, which was quickly followed by the sound of another bullet entering his skull an silencing him for good. The faraway commotion nonetheless stirred Urahara from his slumber like a thunderbolt had struck right outside of his room; years of living on the trail and on the run had forged him into a very, very light sleeper. Throwing on his jacket and rushing out into the street, he saw the grizzly display before him and cursed a blue streak before running back inside and telling Isane Kotetsu to throw some clothes on and grab her medicine kit.

Kisuke just hoped these boys were strong enough to make it through the night without passing. If Ichigo died under his watch, God help him Urahara was going to break his vow to Yoruichi, track down the bastards that had done this, and all hell was going to follow him.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, this chapter ended a bit differently than I had thought it would originally, but it sets up more drama (which is always good) and the next chapter should still unfold in more-or-less the same way. Hope you enjoyed it, and as always, **please review**!


	5. Lost Souls

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach. Tite Kubo does.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 5: **Lost Souls

* * *

In order to keep a commotion from developing and waking up too many of the halfway passed-out boarders who were staying in the Black Cat for the night, Ichigo and Renji were carried carefully up the stairs and deposited in one room each. Their injuries were too severe for Isane to take care of on her own, so Urahara called in a favor with the local doctor.

"You know it is four o'clock in the fucking morning, right Kisuke?"

"Yeah, Tessai," the gray-eyed man had replied wearily, "I do."

"And you know I have a wife and a baby at home, and that both of those things need sleep to be ready for come morning, right Kisuke?"

"Yeah, I do."

"So you better be damn thankful I'm doin' this," the doctor had groused, but Kisuke knew Tessai wasn't actually angry; any time an injury arose that was actually bad enough to require his attention, the mustachioed man would be there, rain or shine. It was simply, in his own words, 'what he was born to do.'

Renji had become Isane's favorite client during the time he'd spent so far in Karakura, so the silver-haired medic was seeing to his wounds while Tessai handled the amber-eyed Kurosaki, assisted by a surprisingly calm Rukia.

"Little lady," the colossal doctor spoke during a rare moment of downtime while he was wrapping up Ichigo's busted ankle, "I must admit I misjudged you. Not only have you remained a frankly surprising level of calm throughout this, but you're quite skilled with bandages and stitching."

Rukia wiped sweat away from her brow with a damp cloth, before wetting it again and setting it gently on Ichigo's forehead to help keep his temperature down. The young man shifted and moaned in his sleep, causing Kuchiki's violet eyes to narrow, half in anger and half in worry.

"I've acquired what skill I have with mending injuries through practice over the years," she replied, not wanting to directly admit that she'd scrapped herself up so many times in the wilderness, it had become a necessity to know how to patch them up if she didn't want Byakuya to find out about her trips.

"And why would it be surprising to you that I remain calm?" Rukia asked. "Steady hands are imperative when one is treating a patient," she finished, her tone turning imperious and decidedly Kuchiki-like. Tessai was far from fazed, though, and even cracked a small smile.

"I've seen how you look at him," the doctor said simply, as if that explained everything. Rukia was about to parry with a testy reply when Ichigo's voice cut her off, its tone strained.

"Yuzu…" he groaned out, before deflating and falling silent again, as if that effort had taken all of the strength in his body.

"What was that?" the young Kuchiki asked, and Tessai heaved a great sigh.

"Looks like our boy's having a fever dream, Rukia," the doctor replied. "Yuzu is one of his two younger sisters, the other one's named Karin. They're twins; I delivered both of 'em when they were born, and Ichigo, too."

"Really?" Rukia spoke, a tinge of wonder in her voice at the thought of someone like Ichigo actually being a kid once.

"Absolutely," Tessai answered, reaching a hand into his jacket. "In fact, I think I might… ah, here it is!" he said triumphantly, pulling out a small, sepia-toned photograph and handing it to the young Kuchiki. Rukia looked down at it and her eyes widened: three smiling faces looked back up at her, one belonging to a man with short black hair, an equally short and scruffy beard and a smile on his face a mile wide. Another was a woman, with fair hair and a face so alive with love and happiness it made Rukia's heart clench briefly with jealousy. The third smile belonged to the reason why the woman was so happy:

Ichigo, who couldn't have been older than five at the time, was standing between his two parents with a big, goofy smile on his face and a look in his eyes that made Rukia wonder what could possibly have turned such an innocent, loved and loving child into the stoic, almost constantly-frowning young man she knew was also called Ichigo Kurosaki.

"This was taken shortly before the twins were conceived," Tessai explained, keeping his voice low. "They should be about 18 now, if my math is right."

"Where are they?" the violet-eyed Kuchiki asked, and the doctor's expression and voice suddenly became serious as the grave.

"I know what you're asking yourself, Rukia," he said, "because I ask myself the same damn question every time I see this kid, even though I know that answer. 'What could possibly happen to someone as young as him to take that smile away?'

"Well, it has to do with his two sisters. Y'see, when they were about 10 and Ichigo was around 13, a band of men headed by one of the meanest, nastiest, cold-blooded bastard you're ever likely to meet rode in to Ichigo's ranch and shot both of his parents dead, right in front of his eyes. But that wasn't enough for him, that blackhearted snake; oh no. He put two bullets into Ichigo's chest with his own gun, and carried off his sisters when he rode out with the ranch burning behind him."

"Jesus Christ," Rukia breathed out in shock and pity, feeling the sudden urge to go find her brother, wrap him in a huge bearhug and tell him how much she really did love him, even after how much of a prick he'd been at times.

"It's a miracle Ichigo survived those wounds, given how long the bullets were in him before I pulled them out, and the gun that made them…" Here Tessai's voice cut off as he snapped his mouth shut, realizing he'd said more than he should have. Rukia's eyes went wide as she connected the dots, before narrowing accusingly.

"You know who did it?"

Tessai confessed as much with his silence, and the young Kuchiki's voice turned angry.

"You have to tell him!" she whispered harshly as Ichigo began to toss and turn as his fever peaked and broke, not wanting to wake him up. "He has to know!"

"Let it go, Rukia," the doctor cut her off, his voice a deep, dark bass that hinted at power nestled deep behind those eyes adorned with spectacles. "I said more than I should have, and I will not compound that error any further. Some secrets are secrets for a reason, child, and this is a secret I will keep buried 'til my dying day. Ichigo will come to the truth in his own time, and that is as it should be. Now," Tessai finished tiredly, his voice returning to normal, "hand me those bandages. We need to change out his dressings again."

Rukia did as the doctor commanded, tenderly unwrapping the now-darkened cloth from around Ichigo's chest and replacing it with a fresh layer of bandages. As she did so, her violet eyes fell upon two wounds in his chest that stood out sharply against his tanned skin: two circular scars, as wide around as her thumb.

"Are those…?" she began, and Tessai nodded sharply, making it known with a pointed look that he would permit no more talking on the subject. As Rukia subconsciously let her fingers trace lines around the bullet scars and the others near it, as if she could learn something about Ichigo by studying his scars, a quiet voice jolted her back to the present.

"I think you should take it a bit slower, kid," the amber-eyed gunslinger half-whispered, half-rasped with a hint of amusement in his half-lidded eyes. Rukia's hand jerked back and she inhaled sharply, a slight blush dusting her cheeks like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She shook it off and recovered quickly, clenching her fist in an effort to slow down her still-thumping heart.

"You're awake," she spoke after a moment, giving a small, relieved smile that was mirrored tiredly on Ichigo's lips.

"Regrettably," the young man muttered. "Fuckin' hell, I feel like I got run over by a herd of wild stallions. Twice."

"You might as well've been, Ichigo," Tessai replied smoothly as he wiped some residual blood from his hands. "Those bastards worked you over like you'd stolen their savings and spent it seducing their sisters."

"Who says I didn't, Doc?" Kurosaki replied wryly, and the older man gave a rumbling chuckle.

"Well, it's good to see they didn't beat the cockiness outta you, boy. You really are your papa's son, I'll say that much. Well," Tessai finished, rising and packing up his kit, "I've done what I can for your injuries. Luckily, most of them are just deep bruises and some mild cuts; those bastards just hit for the sake of hitting, and none of them individually had the skill to go for the breaking points. Your ankle, though, is still screwed up pretty badly. You'll be limping for a few days until it heals fully, and _don't_ overwork it," the doctor added sharply, "because if you come crying back to me with a permanent limp you got because you wouldn't sit still, I don't give a damn what your last name is; I ain't breaking your foot and re-setting it."

"Duly noted, Doc," Ichigo replied, raising his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. Tessai grumbled something that sounded like 'fucking kids think they're fucking invincible' as he left, leaving Ichigo and Rukia alone in the room.

"You look like shit, Ichigo," the young Kuchiki said worriedly as she changed out the cloth on his forehead again, and Kurosaki smiled even though it seemed painful to make the effort.

"A really handsome shit, I hope," he replied, and Rukia gave an exasperated laugh.

"You're unbelievable, kid," she said, shaking her head, and Ichigo's smile widened.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he answered. "Urahara owes me twenty bucks now, thanks to you."

"Oh, really?" Rukia parried, her voice a blend of curiosity and amusement. "And why is that?"

"I bet him I could make you laugh, and he said it would never happen."

The violet-eyed young woman put on an affronted expression, hoping to mask the hurt she felt at the suggestion that she was some kind of statue.

"I do so laugh," she shot back.

"Not as often as I'd like to hear," Ichigo mumbled as he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. "It's a crime to hide a sound that nice, Rukia."

Soft snores floating up to her ears told the violet-eyed Kuchiki that Ichigo was fast asleep, and a sad smile formed on her face as she ran a hand through his hair.

"You're a grade-A moron, you know that?" she said, about to get up from her sitting position on the bed when the fatigue of the evening's events decided to make its presence known and blindsided her.

"Shit," she swore, clutching her head and looking around. There was no place to sleep in the room other than the bed she was currently sitting on, and suddenly her own room seemed three miles away. Weighing her options for all of five seconds, Rukia decided that it would be easiest to just lay down here and grab some shut-eye. But she would be on top of the covers, and would take care to wake up before Ichigo so much as stirred; if that insufferable bastard opened his eyes and saw her lying next to him, Rukia Kuchiki knew for a fact that she would never hear the end of it.

Laying her head down on the pillow with a sigh, she closed her bright violet eyes and drifted off to sleep. Beside her, a single amber eye cracked open and Ichigo smiled a weak but goofy smile, the kind that hadn't graced his face in many a moon. Snaking an arm around the waist of the woman lying next to him, his smile widened and he whispered a single, mischievous word.

"Gotcha."

His smile widened even further as she scooted a bit closer to him, softly murmuring his name as dreams swept her away from consciousness.

* * *

Renji hissed sharply as the latest of Isane ministrations dragged him back to awareness by the short hairs, his dark, intense eyes narrowing.

"So this explains how you can drive me wild with just a touch, darlin'," he said half-growled, amusement lacing his voice. Isane smiled at the compliment, but kept up her work and made a point of lingering over a bruise that she knew was situated on a particularly sensitive spot.

"You keep that up," Abarai forced though the odd feeling the mix of pleasure and pain was bringing to his brain, "and I might just have to do somethin' to make you stop before I lose my mind."

"And what would that somethin' be, cowboy?" Kotetsu asked with a playfully exaggerated huskiness, her large dark eyes peering quizzically into Renji's smaller ones. Renji's look became slightly unfocused, a sign that Isane had long since come to know meant blinding pleasure in her immediate future.

"This," he said in a low rumble, putting one of his hands behind her head with shocking speed considering his injuries and pulling her forward to meet him. The silver-haired prostitute/medic moaned at the force of the contact, and the kiss lasted for several moments before Renji's shortness of breath compelled him to break off.

"Well, I can attest that your lips are in no way bruised, split or otherwise injured," Isane said after she'd recovered her breath. "Thank God for that," she added quietly, and Renji grinned for a moment before his voice got serious.

"What about the rest of me, Isane?" he asked. "How do I look?"

"Surprisingly good," she replied, taking in Abarai's bruises once again and lingering over the hard, scarred muscles that made up his abdomen. "Did this 'Rikichi' fellow want you to follow after him, Renji?"

The red-haired man arched a curious eyebrow.

"How do you know that name?"

Kotetsu shrugged.

"You were mumbling it in your sleep," she replied simply, about to say more when her gaze drifted over a scar on his bicep Isane had never noticed before. It wasn't recent, and it looked like the flesh had either been carved or burned away, but it was too precise to be accidental.

"What's this, Renji?" she asked as she pointed to the scar, and Abarai sighed.

"A mistake I never should'a made," he grumbled, "and one I plan on repentin' in full when I see that bastard Rikichi again."

Isane reached up and ran her fingers gently along a bruise on Renji's cheek, making him hiss again.

"They say when two people're intimate with each other, they lay themselves bare in more ways than one; that they show how they truly are on the inside," Kotetsu spoke, shifting her hand to run it through the gunslinger's long, unbound red hair. "And judging from what I've seen the times we've been together, Renji, you aren't a hateful man in the least. So what's got you burnin' so hotly against this 'Rikichi' fellow?"

"It's a long story," Abarai replied. "Give me a cigarette and a shot o' whiskey, and I'll tell it to ya."

The silver-haired woman wondered if it was such a good idea to indulge those requests coming from a recovering patient, but curiosity won out and she fetched the asked-for items. When Renji had downed the shot and lit up the cigarette, he sighed and began his tale, blowing smoke rings into the air.

"It started when we were kids," he said, his voice shifting to bittersweet as he recalled the memories. "Rikichi and I, we were orphans; stray dogs. No one really gave two shits about us, but we got by on grit and our wits."

"What little you had," Isane quipped, and Renji smiled.

"You want to hear the story, or not?" he said, and Isane smiled as well.

"Please, maestro," she spoke with a grandiose sweep of her hand, "continue."

"All right, then," Abarai said, clearing his throat and resuming.

"We were taken in by this man named Makizo Aramaki, who ran a gang called the Silver Dragonflies. Greasy fucker, he was, and the work was sleazier than a dope fiend jonesin' for a fix. But he paid us wages, filled our bellies and gave us free whiskey. For dogs like us, it was as good as we were gonna get and Rikichi and I knew it.

"We slummed for him for a few years, and I was finally startin' to reluctantly warm up to my profession when somethin' happened that changed both me an' Rikichi for good.

"There was this girl, y'see, that Rikichi had unexpectedly taken a liking to. She was a nice enough kid, but Aramaki saw nothin' but dollar signs and decided to sell her off. When Rikichi got upset and lashed out at our boss, he decided to make an example of Rikichi's insubordination and put a bullet through the girl's head, 'fore turning the gun on Rikichi."

"That's horrible," Isane commiserated, but Renji shook his head sadly.

"It gets worse. I saw what was comin' and pulled my gun, dropping Makizo before he could end Rikichi. The rest of the band made me the new leader on the spot, and gave me a Silver Dragonfly tattoo on my bicep. Rikichi thanked me for savin' him, but I could tell that something had changed behind his eyes. I understood later that part of him had wanted'ta die with that girl, but the greater part of him finally saw there was no room for kindness or compassion in our line of work.

"He became a cold, callous snake of a man, executin' my orders with excessive force 'just to make a point,' as he said, and I saw after he shot down a man in cold blood for no reason that he'd always fought to keep his true nature down as we were growing up. Rikichi'd fought that killer instinct for years, but now the snake had shed his skin, showed his true colors, and there was no goin' back.

"Then I woke up one morning and realized I couldn't feel the sunshine on my face anymore. I'd been working that soulless job so long that it'd turned my heart blacker than coal, and I wanted out before I died like that fucker Makizo. So I packed up one night, hopped on my horse and rode to the nearest town I could find."

"And I take it you burned off your tattoo, then, Renji?" Isane asked softly, and Abarai nodded.

"That part of me is dead," he said, "and now I'm makin' up for what I've done. It was my fault Rikichi got dragged into that gang, and it's corrupted him beyond salvation."

"Then maybe he does want you to go after him," the silver-haired woman observed as she packed up her medical kit. "Maybe he wants you to be the one to end this, Renji."

"Maybe so, maybe no," the red-haired gunslinger replied as he stretched his limbs to test their strength, "but whether he wants me to finish it or not, that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

Isane smiled a smile that was utterly lacking in innocence, climbing onto the bed and lowering herself towards Renji.

"Can you spare some time for your Good Samaritan before you go riding off for your revenge, cowboy?" she asked, and Renji matched her smile with a predatory one of his own.

"Least I can do to repay her kindness," he replied playfully, before rolling over and switching their positions.

"Renji, your bruises…" Kotetsu protested briefly, before Abarai silenced her with a burning kiss.

"I like to think I'm made of sterner stuff than your usual clients," he growled as he broke away. "Besides," he added slyly, "you can always patch me up again when we're done."

"Only if you pay in advance, cowboy," Isane shot back with a twinkle in her eye, and Renji's smile widened at the challenge.

"You drive a hard bargain, lady," Abarai said with a wry smile as he stilled any further banter from his partner by driving his hips forward sharply, "but I believe we have ourselves an accord."

* * *

The next morning came all-too-soon for Ichigo Kurosaki, but the stiffness and soreness he felt in his limbs was soon forgotten as he felt unexpected warmth across his chest that had nothing to do with the sun. Glancing over, Ichigo smiled as he saw that Rukia's arm had wound up resting across his chest, a companion to the arm Ichigo had placed around her waist before falling to sleep. He contemplated trying to get up without disturbing her for a moment, but then his amber eyes caught sight of that damn stray strand of hair. The gunslinger felt a sudden, compulsive desire to put it back where it belonged, and Ichigo was someone who followed through on his desires. Reaching over with his free arm, he moved the lock gently back behind her ear.

Rukia moved her own free hand up quickly in reaction, which soon closed over Ichigo's. The young Kuchiki's hand tensed at the unfamiliar contact and her eyes fluttered open, blinking a few times to clear her vision. As the reality of her situation slowly dawned on her, Ichigo couldn't hold back a smirk when her eyes widened, first in shock and then in shame at being discovered. Ichigo wanted to yank her chain, but figured that some compassion here could go a long way in her overall estimation of his character.

"As far as I'm concerned," he cut in before she could get the words out of her mouth, "you were never here, if that's how you want it to play out."

It didn't escape Rukia's ears that the end of Ichigo's statement was laced with a mix of hurt, disappointment and resigned melancholy, but to both save face and avoid making the situation more awkward than it already was, the young Kuchiki gave a grateful smile, removed Ichigo's hand from behind her ear and got up. Ichigo felt Rukia let her hand linger on his for longer than was needed before pulling it away, but tactfully forgot to make mention of it.

"Would you mind helpin' me to my feet?" the orange-haired gunslinger asked. "My ankle's fucked, and I don't wanna to put pressure on it if it can be helped."

Rukia nodded and came around the bed to Ichigo's side, waiting for him to swing his legs over the side of the bed before letting him shift the weight of his right side onto her shoulder. He rose slowly to his feet, keeping most of his weight off of his thoroughly-wrapped right ankle. Tessai had reinforced the cloth underneath with an outer covering of leather, creating a sort of makeshift boot, but it still stung like hell if he leaned on it too hard. The two of them made it slowly over to the door, while Rukia tried to ignore the warmth of Ichigo's body as his right arm was draped over her shoulders and her left arm was resting on top of his shoulder.

The stairs eased the young Kuchiki's predicament somewhat, where Ichigo was able to use the railing for support, but the fact of the matter remained that he was still shirtless, and years of life on the trail had carved his muscles to a mouth wateringly-defined level. Mumbling a hasty "you're welcome" as Ichigo thanked her for her help, Rukia dashed up the stairs like her heels were on fire and rushed into her room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her before leaning against the wall and slumping over slightly, her head still reeling.

What _was_ that?

* * *

Ichigo was wolfing down a helping of eggs and bacon as Renji walked briskly down the stairs, jumping the last step and landing on the ground with a flourish.

"Well, _someone's_ in a good mood this morning," Yoruichi remarked pointedly, but Abarai's only reply was a wolfish grin as he sat down next to Ichigo. The golden-eyed proprietor shook her head and chuckled, wondering how late Isane was going to be sleeping in this time. The red-haired gunslinger pounded down his own breakfast and chugged a cup of coffee, and soon enough a tense silence had settled over the room.

"You good to go, kid?" he asked Ichigo, and Kurosaki gave a solemn nod.

"Just say the word."

"Please tell me you're not going to go after them, the shape you're in," Yoruichi pleaded, even though she knew it was pointless. "You'll get yourselves killed if you face a whole band, just the two of you."

"It's a good thing I'll be going with 'em too, then, huh?" A voice called from the top of the stairs, where Rukia stood dressed and ready to ride. The only thing she lacked was her gunbelt, which had been replaced for the time being by a pair of pouches that held replacement bandages for Ichigo's ankle.

"You kids are crazy," Yoruichi moaned as she hung her head, hoping that they didn't do anything too stupid.

"I seem to recall that we've had our moments of insanity, Yoruichi," Urahara said as he emerged from what had become their room in the back, stretching his limbs and yawning. "You remember Black Crow Canyon?"

Shihoin grimaced.

"I don't think I'll ever forget that day," she answered, reaching reflexively for the bottle of Jack Daniels before she remembered what was growing in her belly and stopped herself.

"Which way d'you reckon they headed, Renji?" Ichigo asked, and Abarai put on his hat as he answered.

"West," he said. "The Silver Dragonflies never travel over their own tracks; it's the only rule they've got."

"Well, then that's perfect!" Kisuke said jovially. "There's a synagogue not a half-day's ride to the west of here. You tell the man in charge that I sent you, and I'm sure he'll be able to give you supplies and information on your prey's movements."

"A syna-what now?" Rukia asked, and Ichigo filled in the gap.

"It's a Jewish place of worship, Rukia."

The Kuchiki princess nodded in understanding and Renji looked slightly uneasy, but kept his comments to himself.

"Sorry I can't supply you myself," Yoruichi apologized, "but Nemu's still due back from Hokutan with our fresh shipment of goods."

"It's no problem, ma'am," Renji answered with an incline of his head. "Just fixing us up like your people did is goin' above and beyond in an' of itself; taking anything else would feel like stealin'."

"There're the horses," Ichigo said as his and Renji's steeds were brought around to the front of the saloon. "We only have two, though, so Rukia'll have to ride with me."

As the trio walked out the door, Rukia had to fight not to groan at the prospect of having her arms braced around Ichigo's midsection for a whole afternoon. Whether it was born of frustration, desire or a mix of both, even she wasn't sure.

"You sure you're good to ride, Ichigo?" Renji asked, and Kurosaki chuckled ruefully.

"Hell no, I'm not," he said. "Rukia's the only one out of us that is, so I'll be going shotgun and hanging on for the ride."

At the thought of Ichigo's arms bracing themselves around her midsection for a whole afternoon, the young Kuchiki couldn't keep the groan at bay.

* * *

Inside the very synagogue that Kisuke had mentioned, a young man with black hair, piercing blue eyes and a Star of David hanging on a silver chain around his neck was busy throwing a knife into the wall and pulling it out again, repeating the motion over and over without stopping.

"Uryuu, my child," the old man standing at the altar called out. "Come here, and tell me what is on your mind."

Uyruu pulled the knife out of the wall and flipped the blade back into the handle, returning the weapon to its resting place within his sleeve as he walked over to join the rabbi.

"I am frustrated, grandfather," the blue-eyed young man admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose as he did when he felt fidgety and couldn't throw his knife into anything. "I have been sitting here in meditation and prayer as you have instructed, but no sign as emerged before me; nothing to illuminate the right path. Do you know where he is? Have you just been keeping him from me all of this time?"

The rabbi sighed, running a weary hand through his hair.

"I do not know where your father is, Uryuu," he answered after a few heartbeats worth of silence, "and even if I did, I could not tell you. Your paths will cross when the time is right, and not a moment sooner."

"And when will the time be right, grandfather?" the young man pressed, his voice rising. "Have these months not been 'right'? These years!?"

"Calm yourself, Uryuu!" the rabbi called out, stilling the rant in an instant as the young man bowed apologetically.

"Forgive my impertinence, grandfather," Uyruu spoke lowly. "I was not myself."

"No, you were yourself, child, and I am to blame for that," the rabbi, Souken, said sadly. "I have tried to guide you as I did your father, not recognizing how divergent your paths are. Your heart is wild and fierce where his was cold and calculating, and your time underneath this roof has only increased the flames that burn within you. I fear they will devour you, and yet I know of no way to keep them at bay. For that, child, it is I who must ask forgiveness of you."

"Do not say that, grandfather," Uyruu insisted, feeling guilty as he took in the weathered, aged frame of the man who had cared for him for so long. "Without you, I would have destroyed myself long ago."

There was silence between the two of them for some moments, until Souken spoke again. When he did, his voice was more hollow than Uryuu had ever heard it before.

"Come help me to my bed, child."

The words he left unspoken echoed in Uryuu's mind like a gunshot: _I am dying._

The journey was slow and arduous for the old man, but soon enough he was laying down in his bed. As Uryuu made to leave, afraid to see the one man he looked up to wither away before his eyes, Souken reached out and grasped his grandson's wrist.

"Uryuu, please wait a moment," he rasped. The dark-haired young man turned back after a heartbeat's pause, moving to his grandfather's side. "Promise me one thing, before I pass into the grace of God."

"Do not say things like that, grandfather," Uryuu replied, straining to keep his tears at bay. Uyruu Ishida did not cry. Souken shook his head, eyes closed.

"It is my time, child, and I am not afraid to meet it. But promise me this, swear it upon whatever you hold most sacred in your life: do not let the flames of your desire for revenge burn the kindness of your heart to ashes. Do not turn away the needy, nor scorn the weak… every good deed is rewarded in kind."

Uryuu bowed his head and promised to honor his grandfather's last wish as a single tear trickled slowly down his cheek. When the young Ishida raised his head, Souken was still. Biting back a sob, he carried the body outside and lowered it gently into its coffin before lowering that into the grave's plot and covering it up with fresh earth. By the time Uryuu had finished the task, most of his grief had ebbed away. Consumed by the desire to just do _something_, the young man walked back inside the synagogue and began throwing his knife into the wall once more, stopping only as he heard the sound of hooves approaching in the distance.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter was so long, and ended on a bit of a downer; these should return to a more manageable length starting next installment, and there shouldn't be much overt tragedy for a while. Length aside, however, I hope it was still enjoyable despite that, and as always, **please review**!


	6. A Knife In The Dark

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Bleach. Tite Kubo does.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 6:** A Knife In The Dark

* * *

"That look like the place up ahead, Ichigo?" Rukia asked, and the orange-haired gunslinger nodded.

"Sure does. How you holding up, Renji?"

"Good enough," Abarai grunted, trying to ignore the seizing pain that hit his chest whenever his horse recoiled too hard after a gallop. "You?"

"I'll be fine," Kurosaki said calmly, but Rukia was close enough to hear the twinge of pain in his voice. She was close enough to feel his breath caressing the back of her neck, for that matter, and it made her decidedly twitchy.

"Rukia, you all right?" Ichigo asked softly, his words slipping into her ear with a velvety smoothness that should have been illegal. She wanted to snap back that him using that tone was doing nothing to alleviate her discomfort, but held her tongue in check.

"I'll be square as soon as I can get down offa this horse and put some food into my stomach," she answered calmly, "not to mention getting a good night's rest; I haven't had one of those in days."

"You seemed pretty content to me this mornin', princess," Ichigo replied with a suggestive whisper as he dropped his voice an octave, and Rukia stiffened instantly.

"I thought you said…" she began with a growl, but the orange-haired young man cut her off with a chuckle.

"Relax, Rukia," he said, his voice returning to normal, "I was just teasing you."

"It wasn't very funny, idiot," the violet-eyed Kuchiki spat back, and Ichigo just laughed as he pulled Rukia back closer against him, the sudden warmth that spread throughout her body at the contact easing the young woman back into her normal posture.

"That's much better," Kurosaki said. "Can't have you riding with a locked back, or you'll be feeling it in a few hours."

Rukia didn't say anything in reply, figuring that if she shut up, maybe the infuriating bastard behind her would get the hint and follow suit.

Fortune had pity on Rukia for once, and the rest of the ride unfolded in silence. As the trio reached the doors of the synagogue, a young man came out to meet them.

"Greetings," he spoke as Renji, Ichigo and Rukia dismounted. "May I inquire as to the reason of your visit?"

"We're looking for some supplies, and information," Ichigo replied. "Kisuke Urahara told us to say that he sent us to the old man who runs this place. He around?"

"No, I'm afraid," the blue-eyed young man replied evenly. "He passed just this morning."

All three of the travelers removed their hats at the news, inclining their heads slightly.

"My condolences," Rukia offered, "Mister…?"

"Ishida," he answered. "Uyruu Ishida. But please, just call me Uyruu."

"Fair enough," Renji said shortly in a gruff tone, before falling silent again. Ichigo shot him a sidelong glance, but the red-haired gunslinger remained silent.

"Well, Uryuu," the violet-eyed Kuchiki resumed after a moment, "I hate to impose in the wake of such tragedy, but would it be too much trouble to ask if we might let our horses feed and rest for a time underneath your roof?"

"If my grandfather would have honored this Mister Urahara's request, I see no reason why I should do otherwise," Ishida answered cordially. "Please, come inside after you've harnessed your horses 'round the back; there should be some extra feed in the shed."

"Much obliged," Ichigo said with a tip of his hat as he and Renji saw to the horses, while Rukia entered the synagogue alongside Uryuu.

"So, what 'information' in particular are you seeking, Miss…?"

"Rukia," the young woman answered, "just Rukia."

"I see," Ishida said pointedly, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. He didn't press any suspicions he may have had further, though, and Kuchiki continued as if she hadn't been interrupted.

"My two companions and I were robbed and assaulted by a gang of ruffians called the Silver Dragonflies, which we have reason to believe passed through these parts late last night or early this morning."

Uryuu stayed silent for a moment, readjusting his glasses as he mulled over what he remembered of the previous night.

"I do recall the thundering of hooves passing by here around three o'clock this morning," Ishida spoke after a few moments. "I was up and restless at the time, so I managed to hear their passing quite clearly. Judging by the noise, I'd say their band is about twenty to twenty-five men strong.

"They didn't seem to be in the biggest of hurries, however; the next town over is more than a day's ride from here, so I assume they were fixing to make camp somewhere down around Hawkfeather Gulch. That's rough terrain, hard to cross at dusk and all but impossible to deal with at night. If you want to catch up to them, you might have a shot if you move quickly."

"Thank you very much for the information, Uryuu," Rukia spoke as she stretched out her tired limbs with a groan, "but something tells me we won't be hurryin' to meet those scum any time soon. How much time d'you think we've got?"

"A couple of hours at least before the sun starts to dip, if you need to rest some," Ishida answered. "If you don't mind my asking, Rukia, what exactly did they steal from you and your friends?"

"Our guns, presumably a fair amount of money I was foolish enough to be carrying on my person when the Dragonflies first captured me, and something else of great personal value to me."

"I see," Uryuu said again, shifting his spectacles. "You say they 'captured you', Rukia?"

"It's a long story," the young woman demurred, and the blue-eyed knife-wielder smiled.

"Tell it to me over lunch?" he said, and Rukia's stomach answered for her with a hearty rumble.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes'," Ishida spoke, his smile growing, and Rukia gave an embarrassed chuckle as Ichigo and Renji returned from reining in their horses.

* * *

An hour later introductions had been made, lunch had been laid out in the form of a hock of beef and some potatoes and the three travelers had just finished telling Uryuu their reasons for wanting to hunt down, and wreak bloody vengeance upon, the Silver Dragonflies.

"Well, I can't deny that your reasons for seeking retribution are beyond sound, and righteous besdies," Ishida said, filling the silence that had fallen as the tale concluded. "But I also can't help wondering just how it is you plan on overtaking and subduing at most twenty-five strong, hardened and merciless men without any weapons whatsoever."

"These weapons're enough, in my estimation," Renji said, raising a clenched fist. "Unless you have an alternative?"

"I may," Uryuu said calmly, finishing off his glass of water, "but it comes with a price."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from one of your kind," Abarai grumbled, and Ichigo fixed him with a harsh glare.

"Renji, shut your fuckin' mouth right now before I shut it for ya."

"No, no, it's all right," Ishida said smoothly, diffusing the argument between the two gunslingers before it came to blows. "I've been called much worse, believe me. And contrary to your expectations, Mr. Abarai," he finished, "my price is far from monetary."

"Name it, then, Uryuu," Rukia pressed. "We don't have time to be dancing 'round points, here."

"Fair enough, Rukia. I'll provide you with supplies, in exchange for permission to join you on this crusade of yours."

Ichigo finished off his beef with a hearty swallow before replying.

"As much as I have faith in your supplies being of use to us, Uryuu, what skills could you provide in the thick of things?"

"I know that gulch like the back of my hand, in light or darkness, and would be able to assist you in setting up an ambush," the blue-eyed young man replied, and Renji chuckled bitterly.

"That's all well and good, sure," he shot back, "but what'll you do if a gun gets drawn on ya? I'm not too fond of fightin' with cowards."

Uryuu smirked, and his eyes gleamed sharply from behind his glasses. Quickly flexing his left arm out straight, he caught the knife that slid out into his hand and snapped it open in one smooth motion, throwing it deep into a nearby support beam with frightening speed and assurance despite not looking at his target.

"Is that demonstration sufficient, Mr. Abarai?" Ishida asked with a sly smirk. Renji promptly shut his mouth and glowered, while Ichigo grinned and extended his hand.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Ishida," he said, and the blue-eyed knife-wielder shook his hand with calm strength.

"Well, I'm glad we sorted that out," Rukia broke in as she rose from the table, "so now we can get down to business. Mind showing us to the supplies you mentioned, Uryuu?"

"Certainly, Rukia," Ishida replied cordially, walking towards the back of the building. He exchanged a questioning glance with Ichigo as soon as Rukia's back was turned, but Kurosaki merely shrugged in resignation and rolled his eyes.

Uryuu stopped in front of a section of wall and pounded his fist against it, revealing the seemingly sound panel to be false as it fell away to uncover a hidden passage. Jerking his head in a gesture to follow, Ishida grabbed an unlit lamp and struck a match, filling the hallway with murky light shortly afterwards. The group wound their way to the end, where the passage opened up slightly to reveal a storeroom that was full of various provisions. It was the rack of blades on one wall, however, that caught Ichigo's attention.

"I know you said you had supplies, Ishida," he commented, "but I didn't expect a man of God such as yourself to be packin' so many weapons."

"Not every man of God is a saint, Kurosaki," Uryuu replied with a smirk as he tossed Ichigo a large knife, taking another one for himself as an auxiliary and two more for Rukia and Renji.

"I don't mean to offend, Uryuu," Rukia said as she stuck the sheathed knife into her belt, "but what good are blades going to be against guns?"

"A sharp edge can cut a throat just as easily as a bullet, Rukia," Ishida replied calmly, "and it makes no sound. As we will be moving under cover of night, stealth is paramount over speed. Of course," he finished, turning around and beginning to walk back towards the synagogue's main structure, "once you get your guns back, feel free to start shooting away."

When they felt rested enough to make the journey, the four warriors mounted up and rode off towards Hawkfeather Gully just as the sun sank languorously below the horizon. As their tracks faded into dust, a pair of riders trotted out from a nearby copse of trees and stopped in front of the synagogue.

"You know our orders," one said to the other. "Kill the old man that's ratted us out by now, loot what we can, burn this place to the ground and hunt those upstarts down."

"Might as well get to it, then," the second rider said with a grin, grabbing a number of unlit torches from his saddlebags and dismounting.

* * *

The Silver Dragonflies, it turned out, had chosen to make camp where they had for more reasons than just the obstruction of the gully. The pass leading up to it was exceedingly rocky, making travel by horse impossible, travel by foot exhausting and defending it very easy. Just as the flaring torches of Rikichi's camp came into view, Ishida held up his hand abruptly and motioned for everyone to stop.

"What is it?" Rukia asked, her voice a strained whisper.

"We're being followed," Uryuu said tersely, before Rukia heard the sound of a gun being cocked and dove in front of Ichigo, taking a bullet just above her right breast that would have pierced his lung otherwise.

"Rukia!" the orange-haired gunslinger shouted, before controlling his panic and twisting it into rage as his eyes locked onto the faint glint of metal in the rocks above. Drawing his knife and hurling it with all of his might, Ichigo was rewarded with a death rattle that emanated from the man whose life he had just ended as his corpse tumbled to the ground.

A second shot rang out immediately afterwards and this time it was Renji that got tagged, the bullet grazing him badly and taking a sizeable chunk out of his left shoulder. Ishida spun and threw the larger of his two knives without missing a beat, the sudden impact causing the sniper's second shot to misfire and whiz right by Abarai's head. As the red-haired gunslinger stood there, shell-shocked, the reality of the situation sunk in: if it hadn't been for Ishida's cat-like reflexes, there would be a bullet in his head right now.

"Thanks, Ishida," he breathed out. "I owe you one."

Uryuu just shook his head.

"Don't mention it," he answered. "I know you would've done the same for me, Abarai."

A few paces away Ichigo was looking down at Rukia with wide eyes, his adrenaline having receded and been replaced with panic.

"Rukia! Rukia, fucking say something, goddamnit!"

"Stop shouting, Ichigo," the violet-eyed Kuchiki grumbled faintly. "You sound ridiculous."

A storm of fear, relief and anxiety was roiling within Ichigo It was a thick, dark hurricane that swept him up and propelled him into doing something he would've had to have been very, very drunk to attempt otherwise. Wrapping a hand behind her head, he brought her mouth forward to meet his in a gentle, but passionately insistent kiss.

All of the agony that been blazing in Rukia's chest just seconds before vanished instantly. It didn't linger and shift into animalistic lust, nor did it supercharge her nerves and lift her to that peak of ecstasy somewhere between pain and pleasure. It simply vanished.

It was like the kiss, and the emotions it conveyed, was the ultimate drug; more potent than any opiate. Her heart felt whole and fit to burst at the same time; she felt like laughing until she cried or crying until she broke down into hysterics at the sheer power of the feeling coursing through them both. But she didn't do either of those things; all she had the strength to do in that moment was ride the wave until it crested, gently dropping her back to the ground and taking her pain away with it as it receded to parts unknown. Rukia blinked as the kiss ended and found amber eyes glowing back at her, bright, relieved and infectiously joyful.

Unfortunately, all of the emotions in the world wouldn't stop the bullet from being lodged in her chest, nor would they stop the bleeding the projectile was causing. As the young Kuchiki moaned and seemed to grow paler right in front of him, Ichigo scooped the violet-eyed young woman up into his arms and turned to face Uryuu.

"We have to get her help soon, Ishida, or she ain't gonna make it!"

"Calm down, Kurosaki," Uryuu said sternly, surveying the two bandits' corpses nearby with his sharp blue eyes.

"I think I have an idea."

* * *

The two sentries posted at the gate to the camp were surprised when they saw the pair of scouts that had been sent out earlier to torch the synagogue approaching in the distance, with a prisoner in tow.

"What're you guys doin', bringing someone back witcha?" one of the guards called out. "You were supposed to shoot down the trio of 'em, not bring one back like a stray fucking dog!"

"We found out somethin' about this broad you might want to know, buddy," Ishida said, covering up his voice with his best ruffian accent. It was a sound that made Ichigo struggle not to cringe.

"Turns out she's mighty rich, and has relatives that'll be willing to pay out their asses to get her back. But as you can see, she's wounded an' fadin' fast. So, seeing as how a corpse is worth less than shit, we're just gonna go ahead and take her to the medic."

The two sentries nodded and Ichigo carried Rukia over the threshold and into the camp, with Ishida leading the way.

"So, how do we find out which one the medic's in on the first try?" Ichigo asked, and Uryuu gave a grim smile.

"Easy, Kurosaki. We just follow the screams and groans of the dying."

* * *

While Ishida and Ichigo took the front way in with Rukia, Renji climbed over and around the rocks to arrive at the side entrance to the camp. The red-haired gunslinger had always made sure his camps had an exit route built-in just in case, and Rikichi had apparently continued that tradition. Slipping through the shadows like a wraith, Abarai cut the throat of the guard without making a sound and lowered him gently to the ground before moving on, keeping the blood on his blade. Renji knew that Rikichi was proud enough to keep the special spoils of war with him personally, and among those spoils was almost certainly going to be Zabimaru, Abarai's prized, custom-made set of revolvers.

The red-haired hunter readied himself mentally for his duel with Rikichi as he snuck his way towards the massive tent, avoiding detection thanks to another pair of slit throats and one stab through the heart. After what seemed like forever, Renji finally found himself in front of the tent that housed his nemesis. Taking one last breath to steady himself and gritting his teeth, Abarai pulled apart the flap and stepped inside.

* * *

**A/N:** Back to the action, at last. Sorry for the mega-cliffie, but rest assured that next chapter is going to be chock-full of blood, gunfights, cursing and, of course, a dash of romance. Hope you enjoyed it and, as always, **please review**!

Also, Renji's mildly anti-semitic behavior does have a rationale behind it, and is in no way going to be permanent.


	7. Blood and Thunder

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach, or any of its characters. Tite Kubo does.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 7: **Blood And Thunder

* * *

The Silver Dragonflies' resident doctor was just about to turn in for the night when he felt something cool, sharp and insistent press against the back of his neck.

"Turn around slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them."

The man, who was tall and slim but clearly had quiet strength in his wiry frame, was quick to comply. He'd been enlisted by Rikichi for his medical skills, after all; not his brawn. As his eyes fell upon the wounded young woman bleeding out in Ichigo's arms, the medic immediately began to prep for surgery.

"You can take that knife away from my neck, young man," he said calmly to Ishida. "I see enough carnage on a day-to-day basis to keep from wanting to cause any of my own. Lay her down over there," the doctor continued, motioning sharply towards a cloth-covered operating table. Ichigo let go of Rukia reluctantly, his eyes full of worry as he gazed down on her pale face and wide, unfocused eyes.

"What's the situation?" the medic pressed as he cut away a swath of Rukia's undershirt to get at the wound, readying his forceps to retrieve the bullet. "You're obviously not members of this gang, so I'd like to know why you're so keen on saving someone who's just going to get killed soon anyway."

"She saved my life taking that bullet," Ichigo said darkly, "and I aim to return the favor. It's simple as that."

"I just hope for your sake that you have a way to get her out of here," the doctor replied sternly as he steadied himself one last time. "I'd hate to think that I wasted valuable supplies on a walking corpse. I'll apologize in advance, lady," he continued in a softer tone as he turned his head to face Rukia, "because this is going to hurt more than getting shot."

The seemingly-unconscious young Kuchiki jolted back to awareness as the doctor began to maneuver his instrument for a good grip on the bullet, groaning in pain while her previously glassy eyes dilated wide in response to the agony that threatened to overwhelm her. Ichigo reached out and took her slender hand, which immediately gripped down so hard its knuckles turned a ghostly white.

"Hang in there, Rukia," Ichigo said anxiously as the moments ticked by and no progress seemed to be occurring. "Hang in there."

"I think I have it," the medic spoke, and Kurosaki felt part of the weight roll off of his shoulders. "You there, young man," he continued, referring to Ishida, "I'm going to need you to brace her legs and keep her from making any sudden movements while I pull this bastard out; if she aggravates the wound now, I might not be able to staunch the bleeding."

Uryuu did as he was told, and on the count of three the man began to extract the bullet. Ichigo braced Rukia's shoulders and Ishida wrapped his arms around her legs, holding the violet-eyed young woman firmly in place. The bloodied, leaden object emerged from the wound a few seconds later, and Rukia went still with a sigh, her grip on Kurosaki's hand slacking.

"Now what?" the orange-haired gunslinger half-barked, but the medic was unmoved as he grabbed gauze, bandages and a cloth soaked in hot water.

"Now you get the hell out of the way and let me do my job, boy," he replied evenly. "If you absolutely must do something, then pray to whatever you believe in that your friend here's strong enough to outlast her blood loss."

Ichigo nodded gravely and made to move away, but he was stopped by Rukia's hand as it tightened around his own once more.

"Stay," she rasped. "Please."

Those amber eyes softened in concern again, and the young Kuchiki was certain she would never get tired of the way that rare look seemed to effect her.

"You promise you ain't going anywhere either, midget?" he asked teasingly, and Rukia forced a weak smile.

"Do I look like I'm in the shape to do so, idiot?"

Kurosaki gave a bittersweet chuckle, which was quickly followed by a sigh.

"I owe you for that save, Rukia," he said seriously, and the young woman's eyes lit up with an unexpectedly mischievous twinkle.

"Then you can be damn sure I'll collect my due as soon as I'm able, Ichigo," she replied, the way she said his name causing his grip around her hand to tighten on reflex. Rukia noticed the change, and the twinkle deepened into a full-on glow before it vanished suddenly as she hissed in pain.

"Goddamn, doc," she cursed, "I thought you were s'posed to make me feel better."

"Well, maybe this would go smoother if you stopped engaging in frivolous banter with your lover and stayed fucking still!"

Ichigo and Rukia both turned a decided shade of scarlet at the implication, and Ishida had to cough into his hand to disguise a hearty chortle.

"I'm not her—"

"He's not my—"

The simultaneous protests were stilled as the doctor tied off his most recent bandage sharply and Rukia hissed again while the medic fixed the pair with a pointed glare for emphasis.

Needless to say, both Kuchiki and Kurosaki were silent for the remainder of the procedure. Uryuu, meanwhile, silently promised himself that they would never, ever hear the end of this.

* * *

Renji heard a rustle behind him and spun around right as Rikichi pulled the trigger of his revolver, burying a round in Abarai's gut. The red-haired fighter lashed out in rage with his knife and carved a gash down his old friend's chest, but the seizing pain in his abdomen robbed him of strength long enough for Rikichi to recover. The ringleader used the time given to him to slam his fist sharply into Renji's sternum, sending him reeling backwards.

"You know, old friend," Rikichi said as he walked forward calmly, forcing the pain out of his voice that was currently radiating in waves from the cut on his chest, "I'm sorry it had to come to this; I always swore I would never put a bullet in a man's gut. Takes them days to die sometimes, as the blood slowly stagnates and becomes a poison, rotting you from the inside out. But you gave me no choice, Renji," he finished, raising his gun and leveling it at the read-haired gunslinger's face. "You always were so stubborn…"

Renji let himself appear more dazed than he was, waiting until the last possible moment to strike with his knife. The blow hit home and cut up Rikichi's hand while also throwing off his aim, causing the round that would've killed Abarai to pass harmlessly by and through the other side of the tent.

"Fuck!" the brown-eyed young man hissed, dropping the gun and clutching his mangled appendage reflexively. Abarai squashed his pain and swiftly-increasing lightheadedness, grabbing Rikichi's head by the hair and slamming it into his knee.

Renji didn't release his grip, throwing his old friend-turned rival to the ground and bending over to get the dropped gun. He winced as pain flared in his midsection, wishing that he had his own guns at his hips. Just as his hand closed around the grip of Rikichi's revolver, though, Abarai was thrown from his feet as his nemesis blindsided him with a tackle, wrestling the red-haired gunslinger to the ground.

"It was your fault!" Rikichi snarled as he pinned Renji to the ground, his hands around Abarai's throat and choking away what remained of his breath. "If you hadn't taken up that fucker Aramaki's offer, none of this would have happened! None of it!"

Abarai saw the flames of insanity smoldering behind Rikichi's one visible brown eye and knew that whatever vestiges of his old friend that may have remained had been destroyed. If he didn't do something fast he was going to die, and Renji Abarai refused to go down here, gutshot and with this snake's clammy fucking hands wrapped around his throat.

Drawing up all of the strength he had left in him, the red-haired gunslinger lurched forward and brought his knee up hard, loosening Rikichi's position over him enough that he was able to kick out properly. The ringleader doubled over as Renji caught his unclenched gut with the steeled toe of his boot, and Abarai pounced. Rising to his feet with a yell, he rained blow after blow down upon the man he had once called his comrade.

Feeling his strength ebbing quickly from his hands, Renji knew he had to end this quickly or risk a counter-attack overwhelming him for good. As he began to move once again for the discarded revolver, though, Abarai saw the tent flap open and then a devastating chain of events occurred with appropriately devastating suddenness.

Renji turned, grabbed his enemy's staggering form and spun back around, using it as a shield for the hail of rifle-shot bullets that impacted Rikichi's back shortly afterwards. The ringleader coughed up dark blood and sagged forwards, Renji's hands on his hips the only thing keeping him upright. As the light faded from his eyes, the last word that left his lips was the name of the girl he was evidently hoping to be reunited with, at long last.

"Momo…"

As his friend expired and fell to the ground, Renji brandished his knife and began to walk forward. His stride was as calm as the step of a man who knows he walks to his end, and his hair flowed down unbound like a fiery halo fit for the angel of death himself. The bandits, who found themselves as a distinct disadvantage holding empty rifles, decided to hedge their bets and dashed out of the tent while rousing their comrades with a cry of alarm. Abarai sighed and sheathed the knife, moving over to the desk where Zabimaru lay and fastening the pair of guns around his waist. This done, he fetched the oil Rikichi had used to feed his lamps and poured it over the corpse of his fallen comrade, striking a match and setting the ramshackle pyre alight.

As the dying warrior walked from the tent with a slight limp, a golden ring that rested on Rikichi's pinky began to sizzle and melt. As it liquefied, the two names that had been etched into the band's surface vanished forever.

* * *

Ichigo and Uryuu heard the shots ring out nearby and tensed.

"Looks like Abarai decided to make things interesting," Ishida said as he grabbed his throwing knife, and Kurosaki strangled a curse. He felt like he was being torn apart by two horses dragging him in opposite directions; the orange-haired gunslinger didn't want to leave Rukia's side, but he knew he had to go help Renji if he wanted to keep the firefight from spreading to this tent.

"Ichigo," Rukia spoke from her prone position with a voice that was beginning to regain its strength, "go. Renji needs your help, and you'll be more useful out there raising hell than in here worrying about me."

Kurosaki's amber eyes hardened with focus and he nodded, turning his searing gaze on the doctor.

"See to it that she lives," he growled, "or I swear I'll come back here and carve out your fucking heart."

"Duly noted," the medic replied calmly, and Ichigo nodded once to Uryuu before they left the tent and joined the fight.

The first thing to hit them was the stench of sweat mingled with fear, soon joined by the metallic tinge of ignited gunpowder. The gunshots that sounded around them were sporadic at best, telling the would-be reinforcements that Renji was either still gun-less, in which case he was in deep shit, or he was armed but there was a wound keeping him from fighting at full strength, in which case he was also in deep shit.

A gunman dashing by their cover was brought down swiftly by a knife through the neck, which Ishida dashed out to retrieve as Kurosaki watched his back. When the orange-haired gunslinger's eyes swept down over the bandit's corpse, Ichigo's heart skipped a beat as he saw what were holstered in the gunbelt around its waist.

"No way…" he breathed out, crouching and unfastening the gunbelt from the dead man before fastening it around his own waist and drawing the pair of midnight-black revolvers from their holsters.

"Good to have you back, boys," he said with a murderous grin that glowed in the torchlight.

"Let's go save that stubborn ass, Ishida."

Uryuu didn't reply, instead slinging his knife right by Kurosaki's ear. His amber eyes widened in surprise as he spun around, finding himself face-to-face with a man holding a gun. His thumb was frozen on the hammer he had clicked back halfway, and a knife was lodged in his forehead.

"Before you go to save his ass, Kurosaki, make sure you can watch your own."

Ichigo made a decidedly childish face in retaliation and Uryuu rolled his eyes, yanking his knife from his most recent kill and wiping it off.

"I'm gonna have to disinfect this thing three times at this rate…" he grumbled, before jogging to keep up with an advancing Ichigo.

The pair of them drove forward like scythes before wheat, Zangetsu's muzzles flashing with hellfire as bullet after bullet found rest in a bandit. Uryuu moved with the sinewy grace of a viper and struck with intensity to match, painting the ground with streaks of red, burgundy and black with skill to put Winslow Homer to shame. Soon enough the duo met up with Renji, who had collapsed onto all fours and was sucking in wind with a decidedly ominous rattle.

"Abarai!" Ichigo called out, rushing over and helping him to his feet. "Come on, we're gonna get you outta here."

"Save yourselves," Renji huffed bitterly. "I'm as good as gone."

"Shut the fuck up and move, you bastard," Kurosaki growled. "Ishida and I did not just cover our hands and souls in a bucket of blood for you to pussy out on us now. Ishida, brace his other side; we're draggin' this shitstain back to the Doc if we have to knock him out ta do it."

Ignoring Renji's increasingly feeble protests the two warriors lifted their comrade to his feet and lugged him back to the tent, where Ichigo saw that Rukia was standing upright and looking much healthier. She smiled brightly at him for a moment before noticing Renji, and her look became concerned.

"What happened to him?" she asked. "Is he alive?"

"Yeah, he's hangin' on," Ichigo said with a grunt as he and Uryuu lifted his body onto the operating table. "He's been shot in the gut, though, and it don' look like he'll last much longer if something isn't done quick."

The doctor took that as his cue and returned to work with a curse, grumbling about how he should at least get paid for doing this shit at this time of night. Ichigo, for his part, was currently letting his gaze linger on Rukia. Her upper half was currently only adorned by bandages, leaving her right shoulder and midriff tantalizingly visible. The young Kuchiki noticed this attention out of the corner of her eye and turned her head to look at her admirer, a coy smile playing upon her lips.

"See something you like, cowboy?" she said with playful huskiness, her smile widening as Ichigo looked away and promptly began inspecting one of his revolvers.

Just as the doctor was about to reach in and remove the bullet from Renji's gut, a single bandit burst into the tent and drew a snow-white revolver. He pointed it at the first thing his eyes fell upon, which happened to be Ichigo, and Ishida threw his knife for what he prayed would be the last time that night. The man jerked like a hooked fish, but the gun still discharged. The bullet flew with fatal force, slamming into the doctor's head instead of Ichigo's heart. Kurosaki emptied three chambers worth of bullets into the man to make sure he was dead, before the situation settled over the allies and a grave silence fell.

"Well, this is fucked," Rukia said tersely, speaking for the rest of the group as she retrieved her guns from the corpse. "Now we gotta drag Renji to a horse, tie him up so he won't slide around too much _and_ navigate this gulch we got in front of us, all with no light and a very small amount of time in which to do so."

"Then it would be smart for us to stop talking and get moving, would it not?" Ishida parried. The group exchanged a quick nod before leaving the tent behind, hurrying to the horses tied near Rikichi's smoldering tent, mounting up and riding out of the newly-christened graveyard.

Hopefully Ishida would be able to guide them through the gulch quickly, or the night would claim yet another soul.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I hope that was enough action to make for a satisfying payoff, but the tension isn't quite over yet. Hope you enjoyed it, **please review**, and I hope to see you back for next chapter and the introduction of some familiar faces.


	8. Let Go

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach. Tite Kubo does. This story, however, is mine.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 8: **Let Go

* * *

The path down into the belly of the gulch was a narrow one, just wide enough for one horse to trot slowly down it or else risk slipping and falling hard onto the ground below. As such, the three riders traveled single-file into the depression, with Renji laying across Ishida's saddle as Uryuu lit the way by torchlight. Rukia rode next, followed closely behind by Ichigo, who had given her his jacket as a defense against the bracing night winds.

"How're you holdin' up, Rukia?" Kurosaki asked as he saw Kuchiki clutch the garment closer to her chest and shiver. She turned her head back and gave a reassuring, if weak, smile.

"I'll be fine," she said, with enough force to the reply to signal that she didn't want any more inquiries on that front. "Just have plenty on my mind, is all."

"Fair enough," Ichigo conceded, before shifting his attention to the lead rider in an attempt to cut through the decidedly awkward silence.

"So, where exactly in the Rukongai you think we'll surface, Ishida?"

"Junrinan, fortunately," Uryuu answered with a short sigh. "We should be able to locate competent medical treatment for Abarai, with no worries to be had about being fleeced."

"Well, I should certainly hope for as much," Rukia joined in. "If Junrinan's no longer considered safe, then God help us if we wind up in Zaraki."

"Somethin' tells me we won't, Rukia," Ichigo replied. "It's a long way from here to there. Besides, Zaraki's no place to find information about anything; it's a place people go not to be bothered by order of any kind, and to drink 'n gamble themselves to death."

The land was divided up into four principle swaths: there was Honshu, the cultivated, settled land where Karakura was located, among other towns; Rukongai, the sprawling, massive area of land Ichigo had spent the past few years exploring in his search and had only covered, by his account, ten percent of it; and on the far edge sat the final two territories: Seireitei and Hueco Mundo, the citizens of which were locked in a perpetual, bloody struggle for control of the gold-rich section of land in between them called the Dangai. No one dared set foot in those warring lands unless they were fixin' to die, in which case there was no place where the death of a trespasser was more assured than those badlands.

"We're almost to the bottom of the gulch," Uryuu announced after a few moments. "There should be about four miles or so of smooth riding, followed by the ascent and another two miles to the outskirts of Junrinan."

"D'you think Renji'll make it, Ishida?" Kurosaki pressed with concern in his tone, and Uryuu shrugged.

"The odds are good, considering that it doesn't look like the bullet pierced anything important or he'd be a corpse by now. As far as how long Abarai can hold onto that thread of life he's got left, though, that's up to how much grit he's got."

"Which is more than any of you'll ever have, that's for damn sure," Renji's strained voice grumbled from his position over Uryuu's saddle. "Shut the fuck up an' let me get some sleep; if I pass, I want it ta be right after I finish dreaming about this spitfire of a whore I met once in Inuzuri."

"Charming," Rukia answered drolly, before remembering something she'd been meaning to ask Abarai as soon as he'd woken up.

"Renji," she began, trying to keep her voice from trembling, "you didn't happen to find a ring on Rikichi after you finished your fight with him, did you?"

"No," he replied in a half-rasp, "but t'be honest I was more concerned with gettin' the hell out of dodge than ransacking any loot from that snake's corpse."

His answer was cut off by a wheezing cough, and Renji promptly fell silent with a grumble.

"I see," Kuchiki spoke lowly, sounding to Ichigo as if she'd just been punched in the gut.

Kurosaki's sharp eyes moved down to look at the revolvers at Rukia's hips, one of which was poking up out of its holster just enough to expose its snow-white body. Stringing together a number of prior incidents in his mind, Ichigo let the ache that spiked in his heart control him and decided to be a total fucking idiot. Taking in a calming breath, he chose to speak his mind on a delicate matter in the only way he knew how, which was anything but delicate.

"How many nights did those guns and that ring cost you, Rukia?" he asked, venom bolstering the accusation in his voice. Kurosaki felt vindicated when Kuchiki stopped dead in her tracks, gripping the reins in her hands so hard that her horse was beginning to get nervous.

"Uryuu," she said firmly after a moment, "go on ahead."

Ishida was surprised by the sudden imperious command, and arched an eyebrow.

"Rukia, what're you—"

"Just… fucking… go, Ishida," she growled. "It seems like Mr. Kurosaki here has some questions he wants answered, and I'm gonna answer them. After that's done, I'm gonna shoot his kneecaps off and leave him here to die of thirst. Unless you want to be around for that, I suggest you take Renji on down the road. _Now_," Rukia finished with a snarl, and Uyruu gave the pair a worried glance before urging his horse onwards and speeding off into the night. The sound of hooves faded shortly after, leaving Kurosaki and Kuchiki alone under the light of a full moon.

Ichigo dismounted first, walking briskly over towards a rocky outcropping to try and clear his head before he slammed it through something. Rukia dismounted as well and followed him, looking for all the world like a lioness on the hunt.

"Stop walking and turn the fuck around before I hamstring you, you bastard," she hissed out, drawing one of her guns and cocking it back for emphasis. Kurosaki drew one of his own in retaliation and fired off a shot without turning his head, hitting the white firearm and throwing it from Rukia's hand.

"Draw the other one and I won't be so generous, midget," he spat, thumbing back the hammer again. Enraged that she'd been so easily disarmed and infuriated by her inability to understand what had made the man before her so wrathful, Kuchiki snapped.

"What the fuck's your problem, Ichigo?" she shouted, stomping towards him as she ranted. "You've something to say, stop being so goddamn stubborn and show me at least a smidgen of respect by just _fucking saying it!_"

At this point Rukia was all of a foot away from the barrel of Zangetsu, almost as if she wanted Ichigo to pull the trigger. Ichigo's hand tightened briefly around the grip, but his finger never approached the trigger and he holstered it before speaking. When he did, his voice was as vulnerable and wounded as Kuchiki had ever heard it.

"What do you see me as, Rukia?" he asked, and if she could've seen his face then Rukia was certain she would've seen tears burning in the corners of his eyes.

"I—I don't follow you, Ichigo," she said after a few heartbeats, regretting her brashness and now trying to stave off the coming storm for as long as she could. Kurosaki, however, had other ideas.

"Bullshit, Rukia," he shot back, turning to look into her eyes at last, "you know exactly what I mean. What am I to you!? Have you been stringing me along all this time because there's actually something there, or because I look like your dearly departed Kaien Shiba?"

"Ichigo… don't…" Kuchiki choked out, but Kurosaki was in no mood whatsoever to show an ounce of pity. Grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, Ichigo half-shoved the young woman into the rock wall near them and pinned her there.

"Why'd you spend so much time seeing to my ankle, Rukia?" he asked, his voice ragged with venom and anguish. "Why'd you take that fucking bullet for me? Why'd you do any of that? Answer me, damnit!"

"I don't fucking know!" Kuchiki shouted back at last, the dam on her emotions bursting as tears began to flow from her violet eyes. "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know…" she repeated, her voice becoming bitterer and losing strength as she went on. When she finally finished, her words came out as nothing more than a whisper.

"I can't let him go, Ichigo," Rukia admitted at last, fighting to control a sob, "I just can't. I'll have nothing left to hold me up if I do."

Ichigo relaxed one of his hands and moved it over to rest it beneath Rukia's chin, tilting her face up gently to look into his own.

"You'll have me, Rukia," he said tenderly, "and something tells me I'll be sturdier support than a ghost."

Kuchiki stared into those infuriating amber eyes for a long moment, neither of them drawing a breath until Rukia did so to voice her thoughts.

"I hate you, idiot; you know that?" she groused, and Ichigo gave a wide smile.

"The feeling's mutual, midget," he parried, and Rukia gave a throaty growl perched somewhere between lust, love and raw need as she lunged forward, tackling Ichigo to the ground and pinning him there.

"Well, well, well," she taunted, the implications smoldering in her voice making Ichigo wonder just what he had gotten himself in to, "it seems as though the tables have turned, cowboy."

"Should I be worried, princess?" her captive asked smugly, a smirk playing on his features as Rukia languorously closed the distance between them, stopping only when her lips were almost upon his.

"Very," she whispered, before putting rational thought aside and yielding wholly to emotion as Ichigo initiated a searing kiss that made her eyes unfocused with desire.

"Oh, you bastard," Kuchiki half-moaned as they broke apart, each of them equally breathless. "That was a low, dirty thing you just did, catching me off-guard like that."

"Am I to assume there's a rebuke comin' my way in the near future, princess?" Ichigo asked as playfulness and yearning mingled in his voice.

"You bet your ass there is, cowboy," she answered huskily, taking both of Ichigo's hands and pinning them over his head by his wrists before all-but ripping his shirt off of his chest, a look in her eyes that reminded Ichigo of a wolf gazing down at its next meal.

"Rukia?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level as the petite spitfire began to alternate between placing gentle kisses and insistent nips around his chest that were slowly robbing Kurosaki of the blood in his brain. "What're you do—oh, Jesus Christ…" he moaned as his captor hit a particularly sensitive spot, and Kuchiki smiled wickedly.

"He ain't gonna help you, Ichigo," she hissed lustily. "I've got you here good and tight, and I plan on taking my time learning just what makes you… _tick_," the princess finished, tracing a slow circle around one of his two old bullet wounds with her tongue that almost made Kurosaki's eyes roll back into his head as he groaned.

The next few minutes were pure, blissful torture for Ichigo Kurosaki, as Rukia followed through on her promise and then some. But rather than make him numb with pleasure and as malleable as putty in her slender, graceful hands, the ministrations had gradually been winding the spring of Ichigo's self control tighter and tighter. And as happens with springs that are wound too tight, Kurosaki's restraint snapped when Rukia placed a kiss on his other old bullet wound and suddenly Kuchiki found her dominant position stripped from her. Now she was pinned underneath her former captor, and his amber eyes shone fiercely in a way that made Rukia's blood sing with anticipation.

"I'd say that turnabout's fair play," Kurosaki growled in a low whisper as his hot breath caressed Rukia's ear, "but I like to think that actions speak far louder than words."

The Kuchiki princess got a searing demonstration of just what Ichigo's idea of 'fair play' was, and around the moment when his lips finished a series of burning kisses from her neck down to right below her bellybutton that made her all but snarl in need, Rukia realized that it was only by virtue of her breasts being sequestered by bandages that she was still conscious.

She had to heal that bullet wound as soon as fucking possible, she decided through the haze clouding her mind. That haze suddenly lifted as the pressure eased from her hands, and her vision was filled by those enthralling amber orbs once again as Ichigo's voice lost its growl and was instead suffused now with passion, concern, and what Rukia knew from her time with Kaien to be the unmistakable undercurrent of love.

"Are you sure you want this, Rukia?" he asked gently, clearly on pins and needles waiting for her answer but not pressuring her in the slightest with his tone.

"Yes, Ichigo," she said confidently, her tone matching his in perfect harmony, "I am. Just answer one question first."

"Yeah?"

"Do you love me?"

Kurosaki was silent for a few heartbeats and Rukia thought the tension might strangle her, but he spoke right before that happened.

"I don't think there's a word to put to how I feel about you, Rukia," he said after taking a breath, "but if I had to, yeah, I s'pose I'd call it love."

As she let out the biggest breath she'd ever held, Rukia's voice became liquid with desire once again.

"Then prove it to me."

Ichigo smiled and quickly shucked off his pants, repeating the action for Rukia as she raised her hips up to help him. Not worrying about hurting her by breaking through her maidenhead, nor feeling jealous in the slightest that he hadn't had the privilege of doing so, Kurosaki pushed forward in one strong, smooth motion and was almost overwhelmed by the sense of completeness he felt in that moment. Ichigo was brought back to reality by shockwaves of pleasure that blindsided him as Rukia rolled her hips insistently.

"Who said you could stop, Ichigo?" she purred, and Kurosaki felt his heart speed up at the tone that was far too alluring for its own good. Ichigo growled in response and continued, bringing Kuchiki right to the brink of release before stopping and pulling out of her entirely.

"Wha…?" she moaned out in surprise, opening her eyes to be met with that smug fucking smirk.

"Say the magic word, Rukia."

Kuchiki glared at him and bucked her hips upwards, only to have Ichigo raise his just high enough to avoid them, his amber eyes glowing with intensity.

"Say it."

"Please, Ichigo," she groaned out, and was rewarded with a blindingly intense climax as her lover rejoined her in a single, powerful thrust and came as well. As they both sank slowly down from their highs, Rukia laid her head on Ichigo's chest and sighed.

"I'm going to get you for that, you bastard," she said lazily, and Kurosaki smirked at the challenge.

"We still have hours before sunup, Rukia," he replied. "Plenty of time for you to exact your revenge, no?"

It was a very, very long night for both of them.

* * *

Ishida rode into Junrinan as quickly as he could while the sun rose over the horizon, taking care not to jostle Renji too badly as he reined in his horse sharply next to a young man with a shock of white hair and piercing teal eyes. He wore a long black coat, a pair of revolvers and seemed to be about 19, a few year's Ishida's junior.

"Could you tell me the way to the nearest doctor, friend?" Uyruu asked as calmly as he could, and the stranger gave a short nod.

"Go down this street for three blocks, and the Doc's office should be the second building on the left. She goes by the name of Unohana."

The rider inclined his head briefly and rode off, leaving the stranger in his wake shaking his head at the unexpected interruption as he walked towards the saloon for some breakfast.

Ishida followed the directions he'd been given and arrived shortly thereafter at Unohana's office, dismounting and carrying in Abarai while a dark-haired woman with kind, intelligent blue eyes rushed to meet him. Uryuu briefly explained what had happened and the woman, whom he assumed was Unohana, began preparing for emergency surgery.

Assisting her was a beautiful young woman with long, burnished orange hair and startlingly gray eyes that caught Ishida's attention immediately and held it for several moments. At a look from Unohana, though, Uryuu forced himself to exit the room and leave the medics to their trade as he went to grab a drink; he really needing something to take the edge off after last night.

* * *

**A/N: **Not much to say, except that I hope you enjoyed it and please leave a review, if you would be so kind!


	9. A Place and A Name

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach, or any of its characters. This story, however, is ours.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 9:** A Place and A Name

* * *

Ishida was halfway to the saloon and three much-needed shots of whiskey when he reached inside of his pocket and made a very inconvenient discovery: the knife-fighter had left his belongings back at the hospital where he'd left Renji, including the money he would need to procure his much-desired whiskey.

"Damn it," Uryu cursed as he made a sharp turn about-face, kicking up a sizeable dust cloud as he walked briskly back to the hospital. Letting himself in quietly, Ishida made his way into Renji's room and had his hand around his money-pouch when heard an awkward sound that was somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp come from behind him.

Fighting back the instinctive urge to hurl his knife towards whatever had surprised him, Uryu turned around slowly to face whoever else was in the room besides Renji. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the auburn-haired young woman from before standing over Abarai, one hand clutching some fresh bandages while the other was pressed to her chest. Her gray eyes were as wide as Ishida's, and it was clear she hadn't even noticed him until just now. As the nurse got over her shock somewhat and began to stammer, Uryu slipped the pouch into the folds of his jacket before holding his hands out in a gesture of peace.

"It's okay," he said softly, "it's okay. I'm a friend of Renji's. I'm not gonna hurt the person who's healin' him, trust me."

The young woman held Uryu's gaze skeptically for a few more heartbeats, but when she was satisfied that the man was being truthful she turned her eyes back to Renji. The nurse said nothing as she busied herself with changing Abarai's dressings, carefully unraveling the bloodied cloth and replacing it. The stifling silence that settled over the room became too much for Ishida to take after a few moments; once he'd re-adjusted his glasses for at least the fifth time in two minutes, Uryu cleared his throat quietly and spoke.

"So, how's he looking?"

A mostly-indifferent, vaguely optimistic sound that stayed at the back of the nurse's throat was the only reply Ishida got, and the room was still once again. Once she had finished swapping out the linen completely, the gray-eyed young woman turned around and began to leave the room. Seeing his chance at ever getting to know her slipping away, Uryu spoke up once again.

"How much do we owe you?"

The nurse stopped completely at those words, and Ishida's sharp blue eyes caught her shoulders tensing for a brief moment before she forced them to relax.

"Don't worry about it," she answered, her voice clipped and frigidly terse. "Miss Unohana don't like to take money for her treatments, an' folk here give us enough to get by on."

"But I'm not talking about Miss Unohana," Uryu replied insistently, undaunted by the nurse's tone, "I'm talking about you. Clearly you deserve something for doing all o' that for Renji. Knowing him, he's just gonna get it torn back open anyway—"

"Do I look like a whore to ya?" the woman shot back, a whirl of bright auburn in the dim room for one glorious moment before her hard eyes came to rest, glinting, on Ishida. "I don' need your pity, and I don' need no charity neither," she said harshly, before her gaze came to rest on the silver star Uryu wore and her eyes narrowed. "But I guess money's tha only tongue your _kind_ knows how to speak, ain't it?" the nurse finished venomously. More than used to these kinds of jibes, Ishida merely sighed. When he replied, however, he couldn't keep all of the hurt out of his voice.

"I would have hoped that Junrinan would be accepting," he parried, "and that those words would never spring from the lips of someone as fair as you. But I guess I was just foolin' myself, same as always."

With one last bitter chuckle the Jewish knife-fighter swept from the room, blowing right past the shocked nurse. As she was left alone in the room, the young woman hung her head in shame and clenched her fists. She'd just been trying to get him to shut up by any means necessary, and had wound up lashing out worse than a cornered diamondback. Maybe it had just been a reflex, or maybe it was because he'd reminded her of one of _those_ men, but the gray-eyed young woman had never expected to be the one left feeling guilty.

Deciding on a rash impulse to try apologizing to the young man, she fairly ran out of the room and out onto the front porch of the hospital. When she got there, though, the auburn-haired nurse was greeted by nothing more than dust and a pathetic scrap of newspaper as it blew by in the wind.

* * *

Ichigo hissed sharply as Rukia's slender hands moved over his ankle. Rather than the primal, pleased sound that had been leaving his lips a few hours previous, though, this hiss was fueled by pain and discomfort.

"Fuck, Rukia," he cursed, "could you maybe be a bit gentler with it?"

Kuchiki shot her patient a quick stare before going back to bandaging the still-sprained ankle in front of her.

"If you hadn't been so aggressive last night, maybe I wouldn't have to change these dressings," she huffed as she tied off the last bandage with an overly forceful twist, provoking another agonized sound from Kurosaki.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't been begging and pleading for it, I would've held back some," Ichigo shot back smugly, a pleased glint shining in his eye as Rukia quickly turned her head away to hide a blush at the memories.

"I'm done here," she spoke tersely after a moment of awkward silence, before getting up and hauling Ichigo to his feet. They walked in tandem over to their waiting horses as Kuchiki braced Kurosaki once again, before saddling up and looking out over the horizon towards Junrinan.

"It'll take us a few hours to get there," Ichigo commented, and Rukia dug her spurs lightly into the flank of her horse, urging it to a trot in preparation for the galloping to come.

"Well, we best not waste any time then," Kuchiki replied before racing ahead. Kurosaki just smirked, shaking his head lightly before following suit.

* * *

"Gimme three shots of your best whiskey," Ishida announced as soon as he walked into the bar, "neat."

"You sure about that, soldier?" the blond barmaid asked warily as Uryu sat down. "It's awful early to be hittin' the bottle."

"It's never to early for that," Ishida parried as he pulled out some coins, "but it _is_ too early for ice to be gettin' in the way."

"Suit yourself, kid," the voluptuous woman replied offhandedly as she poured the shots. "Everybody's got their somethin', after all."

The knife-fighter quietly savored the burn of the first shot as his body began to feel ever-so-slightly lighter, and by the time the second shot had settled in his stomach Uryu was ready to ask some questions about the young woman who had rebuked him so fiercely earlier and yet wouldn't have the good grace to get out of his head.

"So," he began casually, downing his third and final shot of liquid courage before continuing, "what's the name of the girl that works inna hospital with Miss Unohana down the way?"

The barmaid made a crestfallen clucking sound at the mention of the nurse, finishing drying off a glass and placing it down on the oaken surface of the bar before answering.

"You must be talkin' about Inoue," she said. "Orihime Inoue. Sad girl, that one. Looks mighty pretty on the outside, but I can tell from those eyes o' hers that she's torn up 'bout something on the inside. Never heard what it was made her that way, though; she never talks to any women 'sides Unohana, and the day she says word _one_ to a man is the day pigs fly in a snowy hell. I'm Matsumoto, by the way," she said, extending her hand. Uryu shook it, and was about to mention how this 'Orihime' had spoken to him earlier, but before he could speak another voice cut him off.

"Such a shame, too," a man with a coolie-style straw hat broke in gruffly, the shadow of the hat blocking all of his head from sight apart from his sharp, stubble-smattered chin. "I bet a girl that beautiful has a voice'd make a nightingale blush."

"Maybe you oughta lay off the booze yerself, Shunsui," Matsumoto scolded him with a smile. "You have a wife and kid at home, remember?"

"A band of gold around the finger don't change a man's eyes, Rangiku," the man with the odd hat replied with a smirk in his voice, "and it don't mean he can't appreciate beauty where he sees it."

Before the pair's discussion on the limitations of marital fidelity could get any further, though, the door of the saloon swung open loudly. The sound the door made as it moved, though, was quickly drowned out by another sound that was even louder, and far more obnoxious.

"Oi, Ishida!" Ichigo called out as he strode up to the bar, Rukia following right behind him. "Here you are; we were lookin' everywhere for you! Thought you be over by the hospital visitin' Renji, but when we couldn't find ya the doc said we should check in here."

"As usual, Kurosaki," Uryu commented drolly as he adjusted his glasses, "the volume'o your voice is rivaled only by yer lack of tact."

Before Ichigo could ask if the three empty shot glasses in front of the Jew were the reasons behind his less-than-crisp speech at the moment, a loud cough courtesy of Shunsui drew all attention to the hat-wearing man currently working his way through a half-bottle of Jim Beam.

"You just say that kid's last name was 'Kurosaki', boy?" he asked seriously, lifting the brim of his hat up to reveal two intense brown eyes. Everyone stiffened as the air itself seemed to stop dead, but after a few heartbeats Ichigo loosened back up with a cocky smirk and a pointed gaze directed at Shunsui.

"And if it is?" Ichigo asked sharply, inching his right hand towards Zangetsu's grip. Rukia's eyes narrowed in concern as she saw all-too-clearly that Ichigo was trying to provoke the older man into a fight, and Kuchiki prayed he wouldn't be that stupid. "You got something to say about my name, friend?"

"Maybe I do, kid," Shunsui continued evenly, but with an edge in his voice that told Kurosaki to back down. "What brings someone like you to a place like this, Kurosaki?"

"I'm lookin' for the bastard killed my ma and my pops, almost killed me and took away my kid sisters," Ichigo answered in his usual steely, straightforward manner while his hand moved away from his gun's grip. "What's it to you?"

"Well, if that's the case, kid," Shunsui replied, tipping back another shot of whiskey and sighing, "you can stop lookin' and start huntin'. I know who hired the men that came to your home that day and took everything from ya."

"Really?" Kurosaki pressed, his amber eyes flashing. "Who was it?"

"'Fore I tell you that, though," the older man continued, as if Ichigo had never interrupted, "I'ma need you to make me a promise. Promise me you're gonna hunt this bastard down and kill him, no matter what it takes. Your father was a good friend o' mine, and the thought of his killer still breathin' makes me sick."

"I've never dreamed of letting that son of a bitch live once I get my hands on him," Ichigo ground out through clenched teeth. "Now cut the shit and tell me, old man: who is he?"

"His name's Sosuke Aizen," Shunsui answered after a few more heartbeats of silence, seeming to deflate somewhat as he spoke the words. "You'll find him down 'cross the border, in Hueco Mundo. Lives in the fort called 'Las Noches'… can't miss it. The soldiers he sent to hunt down yer pa are called the Espada… they wear white dusters to a man, with the numbers one through ten on 'em."

Thrilled to now have not only a solid destination, but also a name, Ichigo turned on his heel and exited the bar without another word. Rukia and Ishida hastened to follow after their friend, leaving Shunsui and Rangiku alone in the saloon.

Well, almost alone. A figure rose slowly from a chair in the corner, walking coolly and methodically towards the pair. As the man crossed into the light, a pair of gleaming turquoise eyes were all the was visible of his face; his hair was covered by a white, brimmed hat decorated with a snakeskin band, and the lower half of his face was covered up by a white handkerchief.

"Well done, Kyoraku," he said simply, tossing a pouch onto the bar that jingled enticingly as it landed. "There's payment for your services, courtesy of our employer."

"He ain't my employer no more, Toshiro," Shunsui shot back gravely. "Now get outta here, before I get really pissed."

"I don't plan on lingering," Hitsugaya parried smoothly, beginning to walk towards the door while the spurs on his boots clinked musically as he went. Stopping right before the threshold, he turned his head back over his shoulder and called out to the barmaid.

"Don't get too comfortable where you are, Matsumoto," he warned. "The call's gonna come 'round sooner than you think. It always does."

The gunman left with those words hanging in the air, and Shunsui promptly killed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp before picking up the moneybag and pocketing it, head hung in shame.

* * *

"Ichigo, where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"Kurosaki, I think you're forgetting about something important!"

"Would you two just shut up?" the orange-haired gunslinger shot back impatiently, practically vaulting onto the back of his horse despite the strain such an action put on his injured ankle. "We have someone to go kill, remember? Now saddle up and let's blow this town."

"Not without Renji, you idiot!" Rukia shouted, and Ichigo's fervor seemed to dim at the reminder of his injured comrade. Snarling out a curse in frustration, he turned to his friends and spoke.

"All right, here's how it's gonna be. Ishida, you go and get Renji up off his lazy ass and out here as soon as he can wiggle his big toe without wincin'. Rukia, you stay here with me."

Sharing a quick glance with Kuchiki in commiseration at the headstrong behavior of their companion, Uryu split off and went back towards the hospital. As the knife-fighter walked, he wondered whether or not he'd be able to strike up another conversation with Orihime. He considered his odds on that front to be slim at best, though, even with three shots of whiskey wreaking havoc on his inhibitions.

Ichigo watched his friend disappear into the distance before turning around to face forward. His hands immediately shot to both of Zangetsu's grips as he did so, and he quickly drew the pair of obsidian-black hand-cannons from their holsters to point at the new arrival.

Sitting astride a horse not twenty paces away was a man wearing a solid white duster, with piercing green eyes hidden partway under the shadow cast by the brim of his black hat. A cigarillo dangled almost lazily between his lips, but it straightened as the man took a long pull from it. The rider then reached one hand up slowly to take it from its resting place, before blowing the smoke out in a spear and replacing the cigarillo between his lips.

"You sure you want to be so hasty on the draw," the green-eyed man said in a calm voice that still managed to make a shard of glass seem dull,

"Ichigo Kurosaki?"

* * *

**A/N: **Oh snap, it's Ulquiorra! Will Ichigo listen to common sense, or act like a brash idiot? I think we all know the answer to that one. Also, big announcement: This chapter marks the beginning of this being a collaboration story with the awesome **JasoTheArtisan**. Check his stuff out; it's high-quality. He's also working on a supplementary Ulquiorra-focused one-shot set in the "Guns" universe, which acts like a prelude to his appearance here. Keep an eye out for that! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review!


	10. El Que Llora

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bleach, or any of its characters. Those belong to Tite Kubo. This story, however, is ours.

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 10: **_**El Que Llora

* * *

**_

The train pulled into the old, dilapidated station with a violent squeal as jets of steam belched out from the brakes. The giant wooden deck rattled as the mastodonic locomotive roared forward and rolled to a stop, the old planks threatening to splinter under the earth-shaking power of the steam-engine. A creaky old windmill stood at the head of the long platform, the battered tin sails reflecting the harsh desert sun upon the monstrous black vehicle. Down the long stretch of cracked flooring, tall against the tail of the dock, was a derelict water-tower with an open top, its long shadow stretching across the station in the mid morning sun.

Another shadow grew out from the side of the water-tower's and began to move alongside that of the tall tank, its dark silhouette moving like a living growth on the neck of the structure before snapping away from it, the smaller shade now connecting to the feet of a man. Another man stepped out from under the creaking windmill, the ends of his solid black duster whipping around his legs as the massive train pumped out steam and wind along the surface of the stilted floorboards.

The man that stood beside the water-tower squinted slightly against the sunlight that was reflecting against the sails of the windmill as he tried to see to the other side of station, to make out the face of the man opposite him. He only knew the last name of the other man. Kira. Though the two of them had ridden together for almost three years now, that was all Hisagi knew about his partner's past. He knew that Kira was a damn fine shot and could blow the head off of a rat at twenty paces, but he didn't know a damn thing about the blonde gunslinger otherwise. Not like it really mattered— Hisagi was never much one for conversation or bonding anyway. As long as they were able to claim their bounties and get paid, he was happy.

And Hisagi and Kira were damn good at getting their man.

A single door slid open along the side of the train facing the station, the iron plate banging loudly against the rest of the car. The two assassins snapped to attention, their eyes jerking away from each other and to the train. Hisagi's hand was at his waist in half a second, his calloused fingers whipping his own black duster aside to touch upon the warm handle of his six-shooter, Kazeshini. He couldn't see him out of the corner of his eye, but Hisagi knew that Kira had probably already drawn out both of his irons and had them stayed on the open door.

It took all of his willpower and control to not shoot at the pallet of grain that suddenly came flying out of the car and onto the wooden deck below. Dust flew up from the cracked floor as the metal door slid closed again with another crash and the train began to pull out of the station. Hisagi turned to Kira and nodded from across their distance, his blonde-haired partner casually spinning the grey pair of revolvers on his fingers before popping them back into their slings. The clicking and hissing of the crawling steam engine engulfed their senses once more as they made their way towards one another, the space between them closing as the noise faded and the train began to slide closer to the horizon ahead.

They stopped with the width of five planks between them and looked at each other sternly, Hisagi's black pupils glaring into Kira's green irises. Their target hadn't shown. Hisagi could see the small bit of irritation in his partner's normally melancholic gaze; Kira hated when he came all the way out on a job and it ended up being a damn goose-chase. Hisagi knew the feeling all too well, and could easily commiserate. With a smirk, he cocked his head to the side and began to walk toward the pair of horses that would lead them to the nearest saloon.

He stopped suddenly as a rare scent drifted into his nostrils, Kira also halting at the appearance of the smell. Hisagi turned and gave his partner a perplexed look, the blonde gunslinger returning it in kind as the pungent smell of Indian tobacco wafted around them. The duo turned around slowly, looking for the source of the aroma on the empty deck of the train station. Hisagi had shot all the workers when they'd arrived an hour earlier, so it couldn't be from anyone inside the station. Hell, even Kira had cut open that Indian girl's throat when she'd tried to get away from them. The only person smoking that stuff had to have come from the train, but... Hisagi's eyes widened slightly as Kira cut his sights back at the accelerating vehicle, his slack face turning slowly to watch as the tail of the locomotive began to roll past the dock.

In a second that felt like aeons, the two of them watched as the caboose car slid away from the deck and sped off into the distance. Another platform stood on the other side of the rusty tracks, its wood just as dilapidated as their own. And on that platform stood a man that hadn't been there before the train had arrived, a smoking cigarillo hanging from his thin lips. In an exact perversion of their own, his duster was solid white as it fluttered in the gentle breeze that blew across from the desert. The man was younger than both of them, his otherwise smooth and adolescent features marred only by a scar that ran from his left eye to his chin. A thin sword rested on his left hip, but the older gunslinger couldn't see any sign of a pistol on this young man.

Hisagi traded a look with Kira and smirked.

"Well lookit, Kira," Hisagi called out in recitation, more to the young man across the tracks than to his partner. "It's the man that smokes injun tobacco and wears himself a white duster. Might that be you, stranger?"

The youthful man on the other platform maintained his silence as the other two men each stepped a bit closer to their side of the gap. The wind kicked in a bit harder from behind the youth, small twisters of yellow sand dancing across the desert behind him as dark clouds rolled atop the edge of the horizon.

"Now you ain't gotta keep quiet around us, boy," Hisagi called out with a smile, swaying on his heels slightly as he held his hands behind his back. "That was a ree-torical question after all; with that tear-mark fallin' down yer cheek, you look just like we was told." His grin stretched a little further. "They call you 'the man that cries' don't they? _Ulquiorra_?"

"I assume you were sent for me?" Ulquiorra responded in a cold and deadpan voice, finally breaking his silence with that always lethal question, the aromatic cigarillo dangling from his lips.

"Yessir."

"Then is one of them horses for me?"

"Well, I'm afraid it…" Hisagi said before losing his sentence in a chuckle as he looked back at the two steeds posted behind him. Kira began laughing at his side as he continued. "I'm afraid it looks like we're shy one horse."

"No," Ulquiorra responded sharply, his statement cutting through their laughter like a knife. "You brought one too many."

Hisagi's grin descended slowly as the hands he'd kept locked behind his back began to slowly slide along his black duster towards the pair of leather holsters on his hips. He wanted to look to the corner of his eyes at Kira, but he fought the instinct. If the report on this young man was true, he'd need every fraction of a second at his disposal to survive this gunfight. He heard Kira's weight shift on the wood next to him, the grey planks creaking under his feet. The stone-faced young man in front of him didn't even flinch as the two assassins slowly reached for their guns.

It was already over.

Hisagi's hand had finally broken free from its crawl and had wrapped around the grip of his iron when he'd felt the bullet rip through his chest. He staggered backwards for a few steps, the sight of Kira hitting the ground emerging from the furthest corner of his sights. His mind reeled with impossibilities as his back slammed against the wooden deck beneath him and his vision was taken up by the clear blue skies above. He couldn't understand how the boy had shot them _both _before either of them had been able to fire a single round. Kira was one of the fastest draws in the desert; the sound of his partner's Wabisukeduo hitting the ground was almost as painful to him as the hole in his chest.

His vision began to blur as his body grew colder, the pounding of blood in his ears growing fainter and fainter as the cloudless sky began to grow dark. He could feel as a pair of hands grabbed at his belt and slid off his ammunition and his coin sack. He tried to reach up and grab at the white duster that was lingering at the corner of his eyes, but everything was growing heavy and fuzzy.

The last thing he saw was a pair of forest-green eyes looking down at him through a thin wisp of smoke.

* * *

The horse's hooves clopped on the sandy ground as Ulquiorra steered the animal to the small hitching post in front of the saloon. The place was called "The Black Cat" and it was hailed as one of the finer establishments in the Honshu region. The short gunslinger stepped from his horse and reached into one of the saddlebags on the right side, his nimble fingers reaching blindly for his newly filled coin purse before grasping onto it and sliding a few pieces of gold into his calloused palm. He didn't figure that he'd need the coins, but he was looking for information after all; a single piece of gold would loosen up a man's tongue faster than any other metal in the world.

With the exception of lead.

At that thought, he checked the chambers of his twin hand-cannons to ensure that they were loaded. While he hoped that things wouldn't come to gunfire, he wanted to benefit from his Murciélago being at the ready. A shooter is only as good as the gun that he shoots— a three year old can always out-shoot the man with a rusty gun. Or worse, the man with no bullets.

Ulquiorra slid his long coat off and draped it over the saddle horn atop his horse. He knew that the owners of this saloon were two of the more knowledgeable people in this area of the world; his number-emblazoned white duster would give him away long before he could ever ask a single question. It wasn't so much that the duo inside this tavern would know who _he _was, as much as they would recognize who he _worked _for. After all, only ten people in the whole world were allowed to wear such a coat upon their backs:

The Espada.

Sosuke Aizen had collected himself the best of the best, and anyone outside of those elite ten wearing a white duster would be shot on sight. No man was foolish enough to don the ivory jacket of the Espada unless he could shoot his way into one. And there were a precious few souls in the whole universe that could outshoot one of those gunslingers. Ulquiorra made sure that his duster was secured around the saddle horn, the white sleeve covering the blackened _4_ on the back, before stepping into the saloon.

The smell of whiskey hit him in the face as his brown boots clocked on the wooden floor, their harsh tips brushing aside small piles of yellow sawdust. A young girl with black bangs looked up at him with sad eyes, the broom in her hand stopping as he carelessly marched through her day's labor. Without a single word from either him or her, the girl darted off into the bowels of the saloon, rushing past a snarky looking youth with red hair that was leaning against the wall. Ulquiorra made brief eye-contact with the boy before the child blinked and looked away, spitting out a stream of brown tobacco into a nearby bowl and walked back into the shadow rear of the room.

"Hello there, darlin'" came a smooth voice from behind the bar, bringing Ulquiorra's green eyes away from the boy in the back and upon Yoruichi Shihoin. "What can I do ya for?"

Upon being unrecognized, Ulquiorra relaxed slightly and slid himself onto a barstool before looking past her at the selection of bottles behind the bar. Dozens of brands leapt out at him as he looked at the liquors that sat in front of the filthy mirror, the glass of the bottles glimmering at the faint light cast by the moveable oil-lanterns that hung from the ceiling.

"A shot of tequila. Chilled if you got the ice." he said as his emerald eyes returned to her amber ones, his irises looking above the area that her blouse was so obviously advertising as he took off his black hat and placed it on the bar. "And a lime if it pleases ya."

A look of confusion crossed her perfect face before she turned to the shelf and grabbed the only bottle of tequila in the house. From the looks of the bottle, not too many customers had inquired about the golden liquid before. But when she turned around again, her brilliant smile had returned as she poured the liquor into a tin cup. With ice, he noticed thankfully.

"No limes I'm afraid. I gotta say, none too many people drink this swill," she said with a smile that was far more polite than her comment. "You must not be from these parts, huh stranger?"

"No, ma'am," he replied softly as she placed the small glass down on the teak bar. "This is in fact my first time 'round this area."

"That so?" she inquired as he knocked back his head and gulped down the burning shot. She immediately picked it up to pour another one, eliciting a small nod of thanks from him. "Then from where does a young man like yourself come from, if it ain't from 'round here?"

"Somewhere I can't rightly say," he replied shortly as he pulled out one of his hand-rolled cigarillos. "Do you mind if I burn this in here, ma'am?"

"Accourse not," she said as she leaned down and grabbed an ashtray and a book of matches from one of the numerous shelves by her knees. Ulquiorra thought about how many pistols were stored down there as well as she lit his smoke for him, leaning forward as she once more presented her chest as though it was for sale. While some of the women in this establishment _did _have a price tag on their behinds, Ulquiorra knew that this particular female was betrothed to another. Perhaps this was her bait and switch technique? Lure the men in with her perfect physique only to have them pay for a much lesser grade of entertainment.

"Thankee," he said as he leaned back from her match and dragged deeply from his aromatic tobacco.

"So then," Yoruichi asked sweetly as she shook out the small flame. "If you ain't allowed to tell me where you come from, could you tell me just what a sword-wieldin', tequila drinkin' youngster like yourself is doing here?"

He took another deep drag from the cigarillo as he inspected her tone for any notes of suspicion; either this woman was far cleverer than he'd read, or her reputation greatly exceeded her. How she hadn't placed a stranger that drank tequila and carried a sword as a man that hailed from Hueco Mundo was beyond him.

"I'm lookin'," he said as he blew out the smoke that was in his mouth.

"Lookin'? For who?" Her voice dipped and her eyes bored into his. Ulquiorra smirked inwardly at her question; she hadn't asked 'for what'. She knew he was looking for a person, and he was willing to put gold on the line that she knew exactly _who _he was looking for. Yoruichi Shihoin was finally starting to live up to her name.

"A boy," he responded coldly, his voice mimicking the look she was giving him as he finally downed his second shot. He watched as her hand began to slide down to the shelves below the bar, her upper body positioned to pull back and fire within a second.

"That so?"

"Ayuh."

A thin whistle emerged from the back of the building and broke through their impasse like a blustering wind tears down a tree in a thunderstorm. Ulquiorra's eyes remained on her for a second longer as she brought her hand up from behind the counter, a fresh lime in her fist. He smirked at her harshly as she began to slice it on a cutting board, her perfect lips curving devilishly as she leered at him. He was almost pleased to see that her reputation as "The Black Cat" was _wholly _deserved.

Ulquiorra turned to look for the source of the whistle, his emerald eyes straining to see into the darkest corner of the empty saloon as the whistle held itself in the air. The single note hung for a moment before it bent down slightly, the new pitch clashing with the echo of the previous one. As the dissonant ringing ceased, the whistler dropped the note even further as Ulquiorra walked around to the other side of a set of tables, his eyes peering into the opaque shadows.

The notes began to repeat themselves in a cycle, the first note followed by the dissonance and then the resolve. Ulquiorra came to a stop at the furthest end of the saloon, his cold features trained on the blackest area of darkness against the wall. He slowly reached up and wrapped his slender fingers around the base of the nearest hanging lantern, his green eyes having seen that the wire-track that it was attached to would lead it straight into the murky corner. After a gentle rocking motion with the light to warn the invisible musician in front of him, who was still whistling away in seclusion, Ulquiorra slung the lantern forward along the wire.

The lamp banged against the wooden wall as it illuminated the face of Kisuke Urahara, the Red Prince. He was leaning back in a chair, his shoulders resting on the wall behind him as he continued to whistle. Ulquiorra slowly walked forward, his boots creating a metronome for the saloon proprietor's incessant whistling as he approached. Ulquiorra's eyes drifted down to the long table in front of Urahara, his sights locking on the single pistol that was resting upon the dark teak slab of wood. His sights rose again as he closed the distance even more, the two pairs of eyes locking as Urahara continued to whistle.

His simple melody didn't even falter as Ulquiorra reached out and slowly took the pistol, his thin fingers wrapping around the white and red grip. The man from Hueco Mundo looked over the gun, his green eyes trailing over the intricate design upon the ivory handle. Every gunslinger's pistols were special; it was an extremely rare occurrence when one man could look so closely at his opponent's irons while they were both still breathing. He slowly rubbed his thumb over the blood-like markings on the handle before turning around and walking back to the end of the table with Urahara's weapon still in his hand. He placed the iron back down on the table and turned back to the whistling gunslinger, the eyes of the saloon's employee's burning into his back as he stared at their manager.

"So ya know how to whistle," he said calmly to the man sitting in front of him. "But do ya know how to _shoot?"_

He slid the pistol along the surface of the smooth table, the gun clattering as it shot across the polished wood before slowing to a stop. The barrel had jetted out over the edge of table and was pointing directly at Urahara's chest. The blonde-haired gunslinger continued to whistle his tune as he looked into the eyes of his assailant.

"Did ya forget how to make music with _that_?"

Urahara stopped whistling then and reached out to the pistol in front of him. The newfound silence was almost deafening as the seconds ticked endlessly by, the sitting man's movements taking ages as he took the gun in his hand. He looked at it briefly before placing it back upon the table top, the business end not pointing at Ulquiorra. Urahara leaned back in his chair once more and began to whistle as the two gunslingers continued their staredown.

Without warning Ulquiorra spun around, pointing a long finger at the red-haired boy from earlier. The kid had made his way behind the intruding man and was reaching for the broom handle that the girl had left leaned against the wall. He hadn't even gotten his fingers on the stick when Ulquiorra had spun around and pointed, the quick movement shocking the kid into paralysis. The invading gunslinger's hand turned over and his protruding digit curled up slowly.

"Come here, boy."

The red-haired youth stood deathly still for a moment, his small black eyes shaking slightly in their sockets as he looked into the intense green irises in front of him. Slowly and forcefully the boy stepped forward, his legs moving as though he'd been possessed by Ulquiorra's glare; his small face was taught with fear and bitter anger, but his body wasn't about to refuse the demand of the gunman in front of him. His small feet were practically dragging themselves across the sawdust littered floor in defiance as he slinked his way to Ulquiorra's side.

"Reach inta my shirt pocket," Ulquiorra said without nonsense, his eyes boring into the boy's. "And grab me one o' them smokes."

With a trembling hand, the kid did as he was told and retrieved one of the brown cigarillos from Ulquiorra's pocket. He pulled it out and stuck his hand forward in offering to the strange gunslinger. The taller of the two youths simply glared at the boy before opening his lips slightly. He maintained his line on the boy's eyes as the kid understood his purpose and placed the stick of tobacco into the awaiting mouth. Slowly, he reached down and picked up a matchbook off of the nearest table and struck up a flame. The small fire danced as the kid lifted the match with a hand that was all but shaking itself loose from his shoulder.

Ulquiorra dragged against the light until the flame ate its way down the stick and extinguished itself upon the boy's fingertips. The kid dropped the extinguished match onto the floor without so much as a glance down at his singed flesh. Ulquiorra held his fierce look for a moment longer before a thin smile worked its way across his mouth and his stare softened.

"_Bravo."_

He turned back to Urahara as the kid scrambled away and hid in the nearest room he could find. Kisuke stood slowly as he picked up his gun and holstered it, his eyes staring into the ever-intimidating green ones in front of him. He smiled brightly as he walked up to Ulquiorra, extending a weathered hand.

"Now that you've gone and scared poor Jinta half to death," he said as Ulquiorra ignored the offered handshake, "who're ya lookin' for exactly?"

"Ichigo Kurosaki," Ulquiorra responded sternly, eliciting a small and theatrical hiss of disappointment from Urahara.

"I had a feelin' it was gonna be him," he responded while running a hand through his light, hay-like hair. "An' I reckon you won't be leavin' here without some information on him. then?"

"'Fraid not."

Urahara's grin faded slightly as he stood a mere two feet away from the young gunslinger. His eyes trailed down to the pair of silver irons that were hanging from this man's hips, his thin fingers prepared to snatch the green and white handles out from their holsters in under a second. Urahara looked back up into the cold and ruthless emerald eyes of Ulquiorra before averting his gaze to the woman behind the bar. Despite the fact that her usually flawless face was twisted with worry, he couldn't help but smile at the dark-skinned hand that was thoughtlessly resting over her slightly enlarged stomach. He sighed and looked back at Ulquiorra.

"Last I saw him, he was headed to the old synagogue to the west o' here," Urahara said calmly.

"Kisuke!" Yoruichi hollered from behind the bar, her brows furrowed.

"Settle down now, Yoruichi," he said with a tone that got her to quiet herself almost immediately. "I don't like doin' it, but I got my own son to worry about now, not Isshin's." He looked back to the tear-marked face of the young gunslinger in front of him.

"And if Ulquiorra's reputation is as well deserved as I've heard it is, not tellin' him would put my family at risk."

"Kisuke…" Yoruichi said in a voice that was barely above a whisper, her other hand coming to rest on her belly as well.

"Ya know anythin' else?" Ulquiorra's sturdy voice rang out, reclaiming the conversation between him and Urahara.

"After they stop in at the synagogue," Urahara said calmly, "they'll be headin' after Richiki's gang, The Silver Dragonfly."

With a curt nod, Ulquiorra turned to leave. He was rather thankful that things hadn't come to violence. As proficient as he was at killing, he detested shooting down a woman; putting a bullet into one that was with child was nearly unthinkable for him. But if he'd been left with no other alternative, he would have done it in a second and reviled himself afterwards. He stepped back up to the bar and grabbed his black hat and placed it on his slightly matter hair. He placed three gold pieces on the teak countertop before tipping his hat at a stunned Yoruichi Shihoin.

"Congratulations, ma'am."

Without another word, Ulquiorra stepped out into the harsh afternoon sunlight of Karakura, leaving the batwing doors to swing noisily at his departure.

* * *

The coyote walked forward swiftly with its head slung low as its small paws padded through the desert sand. It stopped suddenly and crouched behind one of the numerous small bushes that littered the floor of the gulley, its silver and orange fur bristling slightly as it looked at the decaying body that was ahead of it. The feral dog sat and waited patiently, its golden eyes watching the still and putrid body for a few silent minutes. A large buzzard appeared out of nowhere, its black wings folding inwards as it landed upon the rotting man's chest. The coyote blinked slowly before it resumed movement, its head staying low as it snuck closer to this new target.

Ulquiorra looked down on this with a passing interest, his green eyes lazily following the coyote's stealthy attack from his vantage point at the rim of the gulley. He pulled a cigarillo out of his left breast pocket and placed it between his thin lips without lighting the end. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to be unable to smoke the miniature cigar at the moment; he still needed a minute to catch his breath and get some fresh air into his lungs.

Hence the reason he was sitting above the small canyon of death.

Richiki's camp had been burned to the sand back near the mouth of the gulch. Ulquiorra could immediately tell that it had been a sloppy massacre and that the torching had been accidental. There had been several sets of horse tracks exploding away from the embers, indicating that the intruding forces hadn't been intent on killing the entire squadron of cowboys. Had that been the purpose of their mission, not a soul would have been left alive; if these young gunslingers had become worthy in the eyes of the Red Prince, surely they would be able to slaughter a band of thieves. At least he hoped so.

Many of the outlying tents and supplies had been left perfectly intact and not harmed by the attempt at arson. The nocturnal assailants hadn't even attempted to take any money or ammunition or supplies from these bandits. Nor had they even attempted to cover their tracks after their departure from the gunfight; every set of tracks had a starting point leading out of the camp. The evidence was beginning to stack up in his mind – their attack on Richiki's gang carried the stench of poor planning and panic.

Ulquiorra slowly pulled the unlit cigarillo from his mouth and licked his lips in thought. Perhaps these kids weren't as skilled as he'd assumed. He was very rarely incorrect in his assumptions and more evidence was in the realm of Ichigo Kurosaki being a far bigger threat to his ambitions than not. As the son of Isshin Kurosaki and the student of Kisuke Urahara, Ichigo should possess a universe worth of potential within his hands. Perhaps the people he was travelling with were more to blame for the sloppy assault.

Ulquiorra sighed and turned his full attention to the slinking coyote once more. He placed the cigarillo into his mouth again and removed a match as he kept his green eyes on the unsuspecting animals below. He wanted to wait for the hunter's attack to be over before he alerted those further down the gulley to his presence with the sound of him lighting the match. He didn't want the prey to be scared off before his fellow killer could catch its dinner.

The shot rang out a moment later and the coyote fell to the ground as the buzzard flew off in a flurry of black feathers. Ulquiorra then struck his match and watched as the hunter stepped out of his hiding place in the bushes adjacent to the now deceased desert dog. Ulquiorra squinted his eyelids in the early morning sunlight, straining to see the gunman that was now reaching down to the body of the dead canine. He couldn't make out much from this distance, but he _could _see a brand on the man's forearm and that was more than enough. Ulquiorra stood from his spot above the gulley and casually brushed the sand from his black denim pants before leaping off the rim of the small valley and into the pit below.

He whipped his right pistol out in mid air and fired downward, the bullet tearing into the left knee of the man below. Without even a second of hesitation Ulquiorra knocked back the hammer with the heel of his hand and fired again, the second round demolishing his target's right kneecap. He quickly spun the pistol on his index finger before slipping it back into one of the tan holsters on his hips. He then reached down to his left side and grabbed the sword that was hanging there, the _colichemarde's _bladeshining in the sun as he gracefully slipped it out of its scabbard before he finally landed.

The man in front of him had fallen onto his back and was trying to crawl backwards on his elbows as Ulquiorra approached him. He was muttering and groaning to himself as he inched away, leaving two lines of crimson blood in the sand as he went. Ulquiorra walked right over his struggling legs and pressed the tip of his blade against the right side of the man's throat. The gibbering softened slightly as the man looked up fearfully into the deep green eyes of the gunslinger above him. Ulquiorra looked down at the brand and confirmed his initial thoughts – a silver dragonfly. This was one of Richiki's men.

"E-E-Espada," the man stammered out as his eyes darted to the white duster that was hanging around Ulquiorra's shoulders.

"The men that burned down your camp," Ulquiorra said coldly, ignoring the title. "Did you see them?"

"Y-yes," was the fear-soaked reply.

"Which way did they ride?"

While the young gunslingers hadn't covered up their tracks, they hadn't exactly made their current whereabouts easy to determine. A group of a dozen men could easily split up and follow the largest paths, but Ulquiorra didn't have the time to waste following dead-end trails. Hopefully, his time spent here would prove to be worth his wait.

"They gone towards Junrinan," the man said with a shallow breath.

"Ya sure on that?"

"Yes!"

Ulquiorra looked down at the trembling man before glancing back at the dead coyote behind him. He let out a single sigh and turned back to the man in the dirt below him as he pulled his hand from his right side to his left, the tip of his blade following through the flesh of the man's throat. The bandit reached up quickly and grabbed at his neck as a confused look spread across his face and dark, arterial blood began to spill through the cracks of his fingers. Ulquiorra looked back down into his face as he slid the _colichemarde _back into its sheath.

"I'd always heard that shootin' a coyote was bad luck," he said as he turned around to fetch his horse, "but I never believed that it was actually true_."_

Ulquiorra climbed his way back to the top of the gully and looked west to Junrinan. The short gunslinger frowned as he saw that the dark storm clouds that had been lining the horizon since he'd arrived in Honshu were beginning to grow bigger. With a quick slap on the rump, his horse started to pull away as Ulquiorra slung his leg over its back and threw himself into the saddle.

He had no desire to confront Ichigo Kurosaki in the middle of a thunderstorm.

* * *

He pulled another cigarillo out of his pocket as his horse trotted under the hanging wooden sign that proclaimed he had arrived in Junrinan. He lit the end of it and dragged deeply, enjoying the flavorful and biting smoke that filled his lungs. He took in the small town that was bathed in the midmorning sunlight, his emerald eyes sweeping along the buildings that stuck up out of the desert earth like painted teeth.

The wind had kicked up slightly and was blowing his white duster forward around the backs of his calves. It was a cooler wind than he had felt in a long time, probably coming from the brewing storm behind him. And he certainly wasn't about to complain is it cooled of the dark green shirt he wore under the coat. The path that lead into town had curved around to the south so that the face of Junrinan faced east and back towards the more bandit-ridden lands in Honshu.

As he began to truly get into the town proper, a pair of batwing doors exploded outwards as a trio of people stormed out of the saloon. Ulquiorra looked at them silently as he pulled his horse to a stop, his brows furrowing slightly as the three figures began to banter with one another. There was no doubt in his mind that the one with the loudest voice was Ichigo Kurosaki. He fit the description perfectly – youthful and tall with a shock of bright orange hair atop his head.

One of the two people with him began to walk down the street, a young man with jet black hair and adorned with a blue and white duster that distinguished him as a member of the Jewish faith. Perhaps he even came from the torched synagogue that Ulquiorra had camped at the night before.

The person that stayed with Ichigo was a young woman with dark hair and big eyes. Ulquiorra looked down at her hips and saw a pair of ill-concealed revolvers that were as white as desert-bleached bone. His eyes travelled back to Ichigo and noticed that he, too, possessed a pair of oddly-colored pistols. The orange-haired youth's guns were as black as the night and larger than most revolvers that Ulquiorra had ever seen. The only way that they could possess such unique guns would be if Kuukaku Shiba had made them, and considering the group's ties with Kisuke Urahara, he wasn't about to rule that out as a possibility.

Ichigo suddenly spun around and pulled both of his irons out and leveled them at Ulquiorra. The boy's quick movement had surprised him, even if the green-eyed gunslinger could have shot him twice before the boy had even taken aim. Still, he hadn't made any indication that he was even watching the orange-haired youth, so Ulquiorra found himself a bit pleased that this kid would end up being worth his time.

Yet something about the fierce look in Ichigo's eyes made Ulquiorra a bit apprehensive to straight up approach the kid. It was one thing to pull pistols on someone that snuck up behind you. It was entirely different to keep them trained with hatred in your eyes. But Ichigo's brows were twisted into knots and his brown irises were flicking back and forth between Ulquiorra's face and his white duster. Ulquiorra dragged on his cigarillo slowly and exhaled, a silent curse escaping his mouth inside of a spear of grey smoke.

It looked like someone had gotten to Ichigo Kurosaki before him.

"Ya sure ya want to be so hasty on the draw," he said in a calm voice, "Ichigo Kurosaki?"

He stepped down from his horse slowly and walked a few paces towards Ichigo before stopping and taking one last pull from his cigarillo. Slowly and deliberately, so as not to spook the boy into firing at him prematurely, he reached up to his mouth and plucked the brown wrap from his lips before flicking it off to the side. The cool wind kicked again, catching the small roach and carried it further than it should have gone. Ulquiorra looked back at this young man before him, his cold and calculating eyes taking in everything.

The girl was practically frozen in fright, her violet eyes wide and shaking as she looked at him from behind Ichigo's torso. The Jew was also standing still a yard behind the other two, his body twisted as if he'd solidified in mid-turn. Both of them were also eyeing his white duster, their eyes looking at his coat while sneaking an occasional glance back at Kurosaki.

As Ulquiorra glared into Ichigo's hate-filled eyes, two things became crystal clear to him: the first was that it was painfully obvious that someone had told the boy about the Espada and that Sosuke Aizen was involved with his father's death; the looks of recognition and fury on his face were unmistakable.

The second was that it was extremely unlikely that this altercation would end without shots being fired.

As if his thoughts had been spoken aloud, Ichigo's hand-cannons each fired off a round. In the blink of an eye Ulquiorra crossed his arms over his waist, his left hand grabbing the pistol on his right hip as his right hand wrapped around the grip of his _colichemarde. _He pulled them both out simultaneously and immediately pulled the trigger of his _Murciélago. _The two bullets clashed in midair, sending each of them plummeting to the sand below.

His right hand swung upwards, the sword in it screaming toward the dark clouds that were beginning to roll in over the town. Just as Ichigo's second bullet came close to Ulquiorra did the blade of his rapier cut the round completely in half. The two pieces of lead split but continued their forward trajectory, each half flying past one of Ulquiorra's cheeks close enough to blow his hair back.

Ichigo's hands lowered slowly as his eyes widened in absolute shock and his mouth dangled open slightly. Ulquiorra spun his revolver and holstered it before slipping his blade back into its sheath before walking forward slowly. He knew that Ichigo had another ten bullets he could unload, but he also knew that the boy wouldn't be firing them. The look on the orange-haired youth's face spoke volumes to Ulquiorra; this boy now understood full and well the gulf of ability that stood between them.

Ulquiorra was now less than ten paces away from Ichigo and could see the shock beginning to ebb away from his features. The glare was beginning to return, but it was devoid of the fire and hatred that it had held for him earlier. Ulquiorra kept his peripheral vision locked on the two figures standing behind Kurosaki, ready to kill either of them if they even so much as made a move against him. Though he needed to leave Ichigo alive, that same immunity did not apply to his companions.

"Calm down, boy," Ulquiorra said as he stood almost toe to toe with Ichigo, the Espada's green eyes boring through his brown ones.

"I just want to talk."

* * *

**A/N: **

Hello everyone! JasoTheArtisan here droppin' my first chapter for "Guns of Karakura" (or as some have called it, "The best story ever! Even better than 'The Iliad'!").

Anyhoo, I hope you guys are enjoying this story and trust me when I say that there is some good stuff headed your way. And, as always, don't forget to **review.**

p.s. Jazzpha wanted me to say that he and I both know that the Espada are now ranked 0-9. We don't care. We like it 1-10 and we're gonna keep it that way in this story. (The numbers are arbitrary anyway, shhh.)


	11. Thunderheads

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 11:** Thunderheads

* * *

_"All right, here's how it's gonna be. Ishida, you go and get Renji up off his lazy ass and out here as soon as he can wiggle his big toe without wincin'. Rukia, you stay come with me."_

His friend's imperious words still echoed in Ishida's head as the knife-fighter made his way back toward the hospital. As angry as Ishida was at Ichigo's bluntness, he still couldn't help but feel worried. The gunslinger he'd been facing-down as Ishida had walked away was a killer born, not a shred of compassion showing in his green eyes. Ishida had seen plenty of those eyes in his travels, but Ichigo was still optimistic enough that he clearly hadn't seen much of the worst that humanity had to offer. Against someone who lived to end the lives of others, Ichigo was hopeless.

"Still," Ishida reminded himself, "the idiot gets himself into these fixes, not anyone else. It's his job to get out of them, or he'll never learn how."

Thanks to his particular heritage, the Jewish young man knew a lot about getting out of fixes. There wasn't a town he'd visited where people hadn't made his life difficult, their responses ranging from quiet disdain to plain scorn to outright violent anger. But slowly, over time, as scabs healed over into scars that split open and healed over again even tighter, Ishida had become immune to the taunts and barbs thrown his way. The dirty looks bounced off of him like so many grains of sand that passed underneath his boots.

But if that was the case, the young man wondered as his brow furrowed and his bright blue eyes narrowed, if he was really unfazed by all of the prejudice he was given, why couldn't he get Orihime's earlier words out of his head? Why did her harsh expression stick in his memories so vividly, like it was branded in front of his eyes? Ishida searched his gut feelings for a long moment and found, to his disgust, that he had hoped.

Hoped that this girl, for some insane reason, wouldn't be like all the rest of the bigoted people he'd run across in his time. There was something about her that had captivated Ishida, an innocence that seemed as fragile as his own had once been, but that innocence had clearly been shattered by something terrible. She had seen the darkness of humanity just as he had, and it had scarred her deeply. He had seen it in her eyes, that rage and hate born of a lack of understanding for how the cruelty that had shaped her could even exist in a just world.

Ishida himself had struggled with that hate for a long time, before it had broken him down and he had accepted it as a fact of life. He was an outsider, and that was his fate to bear. To expect anything else was stupid, and the emotional armor he put up around his heart kept him safe from having it broken again. If even his own father hadn't loved him, after all, Ishida had no hope for the rest of mankind to be any different.

And yet…

And yet that girl, Orihime Inoue, had torn down his defenses as if they hadn't even existed with nothing more than a few furtive glances. Somehow, she had seen through him, and that intrigued Ishida just as much as it utterly terrified him. He had to know how and why he'd suddenly felt the way he had, after so many years of regarding the outside world like so much refuse waiting to be swept away by the rain.

Scoffing at his own emotional confusion and chalking it up to his three shots of whiskey, Ishida kicked up a petulant cloud of dust and kept on walking. It had been stupid of him to drink so early, but after the carnage of the previous night, he'd needed the warmth of the alcohol. Besides, Orihime had made it beyond clear that she wanted nothing to do with him; it was pointless to chase after someone you were never going to catch.

"Hey there, stranger."

The knife-fighter looked up with a start to find Orihime standing on the small porch out front of the hospital building, a small smile on her face and an apologetic look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. 'Bout what I said earlier," the girl said almost hesitantly, and Ishida shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," he said, repeating the words he'd said so many times over to the rare few people who had bothered wasting words on him apologizing for the brutishness of others. "It's nothing; I'm used to it."

"Oh, no you don't," Orihime shot back, her voice gaining strength as she took a few steps closer to the young man. "It ain't nothin' – I stepped over the line and I'm sorry for it. I was angry when I said what I said, and I wasn't thinkin' and I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Ishida said not unkindly, moved by the girl's obvious sincerity despite himself. God dammit, how did she _do_ that? "The name's Ishida, by the by. Uryuu Ishida."

"Orihime Inoue," Orihime replied, light back in her gray eyes as she extended her hand. After they'd shaken and completed the delayed introduction, the girl took a few steps back and smoothed over the folds in her skirt. "I take it you're here to check in on your friend, Mister Ishida?"

"Hmm?" Ishida asked, before he remembered Renji and his eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, yes; of course," he said hastily, nodding. Truth be told, he'd forgotten all about the red-haired ruffian on the way here as he'd poured over his thoughts concerning Orihime, but there was no way Ishida would ever admit that to anyone, least of all the girl in question.

"Lead the way, Miss Inoue."

Orihime quickly turned around, but not fast enough to hide the small blush that had risen on her cheeks. Considering how distant of a reputation she had with the townsfolk, Ishida could only assume she hadn't been referred to with such respect by many, let alone many men. As they walked back into the hospital and out of the direct sunlight, Ishida following behind Orihime, the knife-fighter took the chance to get a closer look at the girl in front of him – after all, this was the first time he had been around her and she hadn't been nervous to the point of stuttering or mad to the point of cursing at him. The cream-colored dress she was wearing was demure enough, but still managed to guide the eye to all the right places…

Ishida quickly snapped himself out of it, remembering all-too vividly Orihime's initial assumption that him paying her specifically out of pocket was because he thought of her like a whore. Anyone who would immediately draw a connection as extreme as that was someone who had seen or experienced that line of work firsthand, and those who had were left incredibly touchy or outright hostile when it came to anything physical. Ishida wasn't about to sacrifice what small amount of goodwill he'd just gained with Orihime because of a roving eye. No sir.

As his gaze rose back up to fix itself on the back of her head, though, Ishida couldn't help but notice something that almost made him stop dead in his tracks with shock. The dress was cut in such a way that it left the back of Orihime's neck bare, and when the wind blew in with enough force to brush her hair to the side, Ishida could see that a very distinct scar sat on her neck just above where her spine began, a series of white lines that were far too precise to be anything other than a scar left by a brand.

And that particular brand's marking was one that Ishida had seen before, on a day that he would never forget: the day that his life had fallen down around him—the day that his father had turned his back on his family forever. The brand was two mangled letters, 'GF'.

It was the mark of the Grand Fisher gang, one of the most infamously brutal groups of outlaws and bounty hunters in the land, second only to the killers of Hueco Mundo.

Ishida felt the words rising in his throat, the question that would lead to an answer, an answer that would lead to either understanding or the complete ruin of any ghost of a chance he might have had with this mystery of a girl.

And so he swallowed sharply once, taking the question down with it. Ishida finally knew some of the dark past that had twisted Orihime into who she was, and that was more than enough for now. Such delicate matters were to be handled with the utmost caution, and there would be time for that later. Now, with the alcohol still seeping out of his blood, Ishida didn't trust himself enough not to say something incredibly stupid.

"Mister Ishida? Mister Ishida? … Uryuu? Are you all right?"

The sound of his first name jolted Ishida out of his thoughts, and he blinked a few times to find Orihime turned around, staring at him with a worried look on her face.

"You look like you just seen a ghost," she said, and Ishida managed a nervous chuckle.

"I guess you could put it that way," he replied as casually as he could, inwardly cursing himself for letting his focus slip so badly. He was silent as the pair continued on, willing his mind to calm back down and failing miserably. Reminding himself never to drink again, as he had so many times before after ill-advised binges, Ishida tacked on a note to stay far away from this girl. She threw him off, and that was something he couldn't afford to risk in any kind of unfriendly territory if he didn't want to wind up dead.

But goddamn if she wasn't the prettiest thing he'd seen in ages.

"Ah, here we are," Orihime said, opening the door to the room where Renji was laid up and walking in. Ishida trudged in behind her. "Looks like he's recoverin' much faster than I thought. Guess Miss Unohana did some work on him while I took my break."

"Heh," Renji forced out in a weak laugh, his brown eyes opening a crack as his bruised, but healing body stirred underneath his cot's sheets. "It'll take more than a few bullets and some knife wounds to get rid of me, that's for sure. Just gimme a smoke and a drink, and I'll be ready to ride out. I assume that's why you're here for me, eh, Ishida?"

"It's true that Kurosaki sent me to get you, Abarai," Ishida answered with a short nod, adjusting his glasses, "but you look like you could use some more rest. We should just wait here—if Kurosaki's in such a hurry to leave, he can come get us himself when he's finished talking to that green-eyed man back there. If he's still standin', that is."

Renji shrugged, beginning to feel antsy at lying on his back for so long, but not one to argue when his limbs still felt like bars of lead that were only just beginning to soften up.

"Works for me," he said, closing his eyes again and drifting back to sleep. "Tell that orange-haired brat to make himself useful and bring me a brew when he rolls on by, will ya?"

Ishida gave an exasperated shake of his head at the state of those he called his friends before sinking into a nearby chair with a sigh. Orihime gave a small laugh at his discomfort, before busying herself with inspecting her patient's bandages.

"He don't seem so bad, this one," she said kindly. "I've seen worse. Much worse."

The change in her tone as Orihime finished didn't escape the knife-fighter's sharp ears, and his mouth turned down into a frown as he recalled the scar on her neck.

_I'm sure you have, Inoue,_ he thought to himself. _But what I want to know is why, when that gang has such a reputation for meaningless slaughter, did they let you go alive?_

_What are you hiding?_

* * *

_Calm down, boy. I just want to talk._

The words rang in Ichigo's ears, knocking him out of his shock. This strange gunslinger had just sliced one of his bullets in half. He hadn't even known that was possible.

_Is this what an Espada can do? _he thought. _Is this what I'm going up against?_

He knew that there was no way he could take down the rider that stood in front of him. He slowly lowered Zangetsu back into their holsters, but he didn't look away from the green eyes that were drilling into him. This guy might have been absurdly fast with a blade and a gun, but even so, the day Ichigo bowed his head to anyone was the day he fell to the sand with a bullet in his heart.

"You wanna talk, huh?" he asked contemptuously, and the green-eyed stranger gave a short nod. "Well, I ain't sure if you got anythin' to say that I want to hear."

"That's strange," Ulquiorra responded. "I for sure thought you'd be interested in the whereabouts a' Sosuke Aizen."

Ichigo's eyes widened, but his expression remained deadly calm.

"Alright, stranger. Get talkin'."

"Inside, if it pleases ya," the Espada replied, gripping the reins of his horse and leading it to a post. "That storm cloud back there ain't gonna wait for us to finish talkin' before it comes."

Ulquiorra tied the steed up and walked towards the saloon, confidently turning his back towards the three figures that stood still behind him. Ichigo was stunned. _He ain't even lookin' at us. Is he really that confident? _

"All right," the orange-haired youth said to his companions. "Here's how it's gonna be. Ishida, you go and get Renji up off his lazy ass and out here as soon as he can wiggle his big toe without wincin'. Rukia, you come with me."

Ishida opened his mouth to protest, but Ichigo had already turned away from both of them, his boots trudging through the sand as he followed the green-eyed gunslinger to the saloon. The knife fighter gave a quick huff before turning and briskly stomping towards the hospital. Rukia remained where she was.

Ichigo turned and looked at her, urgency in his eyes.

"Rukia." His tone was harsh. "Let's get on."

She furrowed her eyebrows at the demand, but quickly fell into line behind the other two men. Ichigo barely noticed her there; his eyes were burning into the back of the Espada in front of him. What did this mysterious young man want with him? Why was he willing to divulge information about his employer?

_Why am I not dead already?_

Their boots clopped along the wooden stairs that led up to the saloon. The Espada pushed open the bat-wing doors and immediately fired a round into the top of the bar, sending woodchips flying. Rukia yelped and Ichigo grabbed for Zangetsu. The blonde woman behind the counter froze instantly, her torso leaned forward, the shotgun that she kept under the register gripped tightly in her hands. She didn't move a muscle as Ulquiorra pointed his hand-cannon right at her chest. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"We gonna have a problem," he asked calmly, "Rangiku Matsumoto?"

"You ain't welcome here, Espada," she hissed back. "You know that."

"I don't want any blood gettin' spilled. You'll place that rifle down on the bar if you don't either."

Matsumoto hesitated for a moment before placing the shotgun down on the ruined counter-top.

"Girl," Ulquiorra said over his shoulder, his eyes still on the bartender in front of him. "Go pick that gun up from the bar."

Rukia took a step forward.

"Now just you wait a goddamned minute!" Matsumoto growled. Ulquiorra immediately shot another round into the bar, sending splinters of pine into her blonde hair.

"You'll get it back," Ulquiorra said calmly as Rukia picked up the shotgun. "But until we finish our palaver, Haineko stays at our ta—"

His words stopped in his throat as he drew his second revolver, pointing it directly at the restroom doors. Shunsui Kyoraku stopped in mid-step, his hands stilled in the act of being dried upon a handkerchief. His brown eyes darted to each face in the room before he sighed and smiled.

"_El Que Llora_," he said, amusedly. "Ain't seen you a long while."

"You still retired, Kyoraku?" Ulquiorra asked, both his pistols aimed expertly at their targets.

"I am," he said, "but I might come out of it if you don't stop pointin' that revolver at my lovely friend there."

"You watch her for me," Ulquiorra said, removing his gun from Shunsui. "Make sure she don't do anythin' stupid with that buckshot a' hers?"

"You got my word."

Ulquiorra turned back to Matsumoto. "Your boy around here anywhere?"

"He left a bit ago."

"Are we expectin' him back anytime?"

"No, he's gone to the ocean."

Ulquiorra thumbed the hammer forward and placed his second revolver in its holster. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold coin and flipped it towards her. She caught it without taking her eyes off of him.

"_Tres tequilas_. No salt," he said and walked over to the nearest table. He pulled out a chair and sat facing the bar, his emerald eyes watching the bartender closely as she placed her Haineko back under the counter and grabbed a bottle of tequila. Ichigo and Rukia soon followed suit, sitting wordlessly.

"Judgin' by your reaction earlier," Ulquiorra said as though nothing had happened, "I reckon you already heard about the Espada?"

"Yeah," Ichigo said calmly. "I heard a' you."

"You hear that we killed your family?"

Ichigo said nothing as he continued to glare at Ulquiorra. Matsumoto came over with the trio of drinks and placed them down on the table, but the two gunslingers never took their eyes of one another.

"Thankee," Rukia said meekly, looking down at the strange liquor. Matsumoto rolled her eyes and headed back to the bar. Shunsui sat in his seat with his face in his drink, but even Rukia could see that he was watching them very intently in the mirror that was on the wall behind the counter.

"What you heard about us," Ulquiorra continued despite Ichigo's silence, "About Aizen and your family…"

He knocked back his shot.

"…Is entirely true."

Shunsui turned his head quickly, no longer concerned with being covert. If either of the two at the table noticed him, they didn't show it. Ulquiorra pulled out another cigarillo and placed it in his mouth. He lit it and looked at the orange-haired youth across from him.

"Yeah, I figured it was," Ichigo said. "I reckon you know this means I'm gonna kill all a' you. Including this Aizen fella'."

"Don't be ridiculous," the Espada said. "You couldn't shoot me down if I was blindfolded, I think you already seen that. And ain't no man alive good enough to be called Sosuke Aizen's equal."

"Cut the bullshit," Ishigo hissed. "You said you'd tell me where he is. We'll just have ta see about me killin' him after I find him."

"I hope there wasn't a misunderstandin'," Ulquiorra. "I won't be tellin' you anythin'. But I will bring you to Las Noches, and I will help you kill him."

Silence filled the bar as the words settled. A low rumble of thunder sounded from outside.

"Why would you do that?" Ichigo asked.

"I got my own reasons," Ulquiorra replied. "But Aizen and I are no longer partners."

"Why?"

"I ain't sayin'. Just trust me when I tell you that you need me."

"That shit ain't flyin' with me, Espada," Ichigo said briskly. "You tell me where to go and then I'm gone. Without you."

"Your father must be rollin' in that pine box he's in," said Ulquiorra, "knowin' that his son is gonna run off and die like a dog."

Ichigo shot up from his chair, whipping out one of his revolvers with his right hand. He held it pointed at Ulquiorra's forehead, the barrel only inches away from his flesh. Another thunderclap sounded, loudly. It was close. Ulquiorra took a drag from his cigarillo and looked at Ichigo.

"You ain't gonna be killin' me," he said.

"I ain't got a clue why you thinkin' like that," Ichigo replied.

"Because you believe me," Ulquiorra said. "You know that what I'm tellin' you is as true as the sunrise."

Ichigo kept the gun trained on Ulquiorra's head for a few heartbeats longer before he lowered his arm. He sat back down, looking winded. Rukia placed her hand on his forearm, but he didn't acknowledge the gesture. He simply stared out of the dirty window at the approaching storm.

Ulquiorra stood and walked over to the bar once more. He flicked another piece of gold at Matsumoto.

"For the mess," he said.

The busty woman said nothing as the Espada turned back around and faced the people at his table.

"We should get to wherever you're stayin' for the evenin'," he said as the sound of rain began to spatter on the sand outside. "Don't wanna be gettin' caught out in a storm if you don't have to."

* * *

**......**

**........**

**A/N:** Okay, first thing's first. To any and all of you who have been awesome and patient enough to wait on my lazy ass for the last couple of months, thank you very, very much for sticking it out. And I'm really, really sorry this took so long to get posted; I don't have an excuse. If you want to thank anyone, thank **Jaso** for nagging me about it almost constantly while I was off being irresponsible and publishing other shit. Go read his stuff, and review it to tell him how good it is.

I hope this chapter was worth the wait, even as arrogant as that may sound considering how long the wait was. Please **review** if you would be so kind; it's awesome to hear from you guys, and it's the fuel that keeps our engines running.

See you next chapter, which will be coming along much sooner than this one did!

**Jazz & Jaso**


	12. Retrovertigo

**The Guns of Karakura**

**Chapter 12: **Retrovertigo

* * *

Ichigo looked over at the Espada's impassive face and frowned: he had just about had it with the guy's mysterious act.

"You say we should get going back to where we'll be stayin'," he said slowly, "but I don't travel with a man who's name I don't know, and I _sure_ as hell don't let him walk behind me."

Ulquiorra held the gaze of the kid's eyes for a moment before he nodded; if dealing with insignificant formalities was what it took to bring the buck into line, then so be it.

"Fair enough," the Espada replied levelly. "My name is Ulquiorra Schiffer. I already know who you are, Kurosaki Ichigo – don't go wastin' your breath on my account. If that's made ya satisfied, might I suggest that we get on out of here?"

"What, you afraid o' those two?" Ichigo shot back with a smirk, referring to the pair of gunslingers at the bar. Ulquiorra looked at Ichigo with a blank face

"No, but I have no desire to ride out tomorrow with a sick horse."

"Fine, fine," Ichigo continued, brushing off Ulquiorra's silent disdain. "We'll get goin'. But first, I gotta make sure my pals are all right back on over at the hospital – they should have been back here by now."

"Very well," Ulquiorra allowed, and the three of them got up and walked out the doors of the bar. Matsumoto and Shunsui exchanged relieved looks but said nothing, anxiety knotting in their guts as they felt the air thicken with something other than the pressure of the coming storm – the appearance of an Espada outside of Las Noches meant that either Aizen was moving or someone was moving against him, and that was as good an omen of bloodshed to come as ever there was.

As they walked out into the pale sunlight once again, Rukia sped up her pace subtly to sidle up alongside Ichigo, sparing Ulquiorra a quick glance over her shoulder before nudging the orange-haired youth in the ribs.

"Huh? Rukia? What is it?"

"I _really_ don't think we should be trustin' him," Rukia whispered as urgently as she could without raising her voice. Ichigo looked over at her and frowned for a minute, before shrugging.

"I ain't really seein' many other choices ," he said, "you're gonna need to trust me on this."

"Ichigo, I know that—"

"_Rukia," _he hissed, "I really don't need you actin' like this, okay? Just get behind us and keep your eye on him."

"_Whatever_."

She wanted to place a hard elbow into Ichigo's ribcage, but she figured such theatrics could cause the Espada behind them to get suspicious. Rukia decreased her pace to walk behind the two men, her agitation showing in her stride. The Espada watched her fall behind, his lack of an expression showing that he understood exactly why she was now taking up the rear.

_What's her deal?_ He'd thought that maybe they'd taken things a little fast the other night, but a girl asking you if you loved them, followed by a 'yes', usually meant you were in the clear. So why was she acting so touchy? As the trio reached the hospital, Rukia glared hard at Ulquiorra as he stopped, allowing her to enter before him. The Espada didn't seem to notice the scrutiny – or if he did, he simply didn't care.

"Oi, Renji; Ishida!" Ichigo shouted out as his boots clomped like horse hooves while he made his way through the halls, not seeming to mind what invalids might have been sleeping behind the doors he was thundering past. "Where the hell're you guys? We were waiting on you at the saloon, but you were taking forever! What's wrong?"

Ichigo finally heard what he recognized as the voices of Renji and Ishida behind a closed door, along with one that belonged to a young woman whom he didn't recognize. Gripping the rusted knob, he yanked the door open, ready to shout again before a pair of stern looks from both Ishida and the young woman he was sitting next to stopped him cold.

"Kurosaki," Ishida said pointedly, the edge in his voice hitting harder than if he'd been shouting, "please keep your voice down. This is a hospital, in case you didn't see the sign outside, and as such, it's a place of rest. Rest, like what Abarai here needs to get in order to recover." The young woman sitting next to him nodded firmly, the disappointed and hurt look in her wide gray eyes enough to make even the worst of sinners fall on their knees and weep apologies.

Ishida's trained eyes were quick to sweep over the newcomers as they entered the room, his instincts still running on high alert since he'd seen the strange gunman cut that bullet clean in half.

The same gunman who was now standing in the back of the room, near the door, his green eyes as cold and sharp as ever. The knife-fighter's hands clenched instantly; what was he doing here? Ichigo's demeanor didn't seem to indicate that he was being held hostage, but the green-eyed gunman seemed like a lone wolf through-and-through… so why would he have joined up with Ichigo?

_All the same_, the Jew told himself evenly, slowly unclenching his fist, _odds are Kurosaki is working some kind of angle, however insane it might be… best to hear him out before I make a move._

"Don't worry about me, Uryuu," Renji chimed in raggedly as he opened his eyes and scooted himself up into a sitting position. "With that guy here, I don't think the deaf would be able to grab any shut-eye. But that's not what matters; you said you 'ere in a bar before this, Ichigo? Tell me you brought me a beer, or I might actually make you pay for wakin' me up."

"What?" Ichigo snapped back. "Are you an idiot, Renji? You know saloons don't let you take drink offa the property!"

The red-head grumbled something that sounded like 'Fuckin' excuses,' but Ichigo continued on as if nothing had been said.

"Anyway," he said, motioning with a jerk of his thumb to Ulquiorra, "this here's Ulquiorra Schiffer, and he's gonna be heading with us out to Las Noches… says he's got some business to handle down there, same as us. Renji, you good to walk?"

"Yeah, I should be," Renji answered with a nod, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with nothing more than a small wince to show for it. Testing the pressure on one leg and finding that it held up well, the gunslinger was on his feet a few moments later.

"Lookin' like that's a 'yes'," Renji said with a satisfied grin, before he half-stumbled forward as his injured legs begged to differ. But Ishida and Orihime had seen that coming, and swiftly braced the patient under his shoulders, one on each side. Ishida tensed slightly as he felt his arm resting over Orihime's, but took his mind off of it by speaking.

"We'll support him for now, Kurosaki," he said. Orihime nodded as well, nudging the two men forward and moving with them as they worked out a rhythm to their steps.

"Judgin' by how fast he's healin'," Orihime observed, "he should be good to go by tomorra, if we can keep the pressure offa his legs."

"Good to hear," Ulquiorra said flatly, looking around at the frayed timbers that had begun to creak in the wind. "Let's get on – I don't exactly trust the roof in this storm."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Espada," a calm, smooth voice spoke up. "This building has weathered far worse than a little rain… and so have I."

The travelers looked towards the doorway to see a tall, graceful woman standing there, her long black hair tied in an elegant braid that fell down over her shoulder to rest on her chest. Her blue eyes were wise and kind, but those in the room that had been trained to fight could see the steel lurking behind them, waiting to snap.

"Miss Unohana!" Orihime exclaimed, half in relief and half in anxiety, glad to see her mistress again but knowing how odd this scene must look. "These people're all friends of Mister Abarai here – we was jus' on our way out. Once I get him over to where he's stayin', I'll come right on back!"

"That's fine," Unohana said with a smile. "He certainly looks like he could use a hand or two, and who are we to deny help to those who need it?"

Orihime nodded happily, glad to have remained in her mistress's good graces and led the way as the group walked out of the room. Ichigo was much more subdued than he had been when entering, even going as far as to nod his head in respect to the hospital's head as he passed by. Ulquiorra was the last to leave, and spared Unohana no more than a glance as he walked by – he was in no mood to lengthen his brush with the woman in any possible way.

It was only when the group was again outside on the front porch and Ulquiorra was safely away from the hospital's headmaster that the Espada allowed himself to exhale in a rare display of relief. Rangiku Matsumoto and Shunsui Kyoraku he could take down with only minor risk to his own safety, but not Retsu Unohana. He didn't care if she'd left the killing business behind; he didn't want to be the reason she picked up her guns again.

He would be glad to have his back to this spit of a town come sun-up; of that, the Espada was beyond certain.

* * *

"Okay, all of you listen up, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once."

Ichigo, Ulquiorra, Rukia and Ishida stood around the table in the larger of the two rooms Ichigo had rented for the night, the group still and intent. Orihime was busy tending to Renji again, who had been put down in the bed to rest some more.

"Come sunrise, we're going to head out towards Hueco Mundo. I don't care how long it takes, and I don't care how hard the road there is. Ulquiorra's promised to guide us there, and I intend to follow him as far as he's willin' to lead. Any of you havin' second thoughts an' want'n to back out, now's the time to make yourselves heard."

Ishida adjusted his glasses, the normally thin sound echoing loud and clear in the silent room.

"I have a feeling that what I'm looking for and what you're hunting lie on the same path, Kurosaki," he said. "I'll follow you as far as you need, but just know that as soon as I find what I'm looking for, I'm goin' after it."

"Understood," Ichigo answered with a solemn nod, "and I don't blame ya for that. Glad to have what help I can get, while I can get it."

"I'll come with you, too, Ichigo," Rukia said, looking hard at Ulquiorra as she spoke. "Lord knows without me there to watch your back, you'll probably wind up dead in a ditch three miles outside of town."

"Thanks for the vote a' confidence, Rukia," Ichigo said edgewise, "but I'm glad to hear you're down to ride all the same. I know Renji's good for it," the orange-haired youth continued, Renji wincing slightly as Orihime replaced another set of bandages.

"There," she said in her drawling voice. "Since I know he'll be ridin' with y'all no matter what I tell him, it'd be right improper to send him off with dirty dressin'."

Orihime stood and smiled, giving Ishida one last glance on her way out before passing through the door and out into the hallway. The Jew stood as she left, his eyes meeting hers briefly before she vanished out into the hall. Not a soul in the room missed the movement. Ichigo gave Ishida a crooked grin, but a stern look from the black-haired youth told him that a single word would be enough to justify the loss of his tongue at the edge of Ishida's knife. Ichigo let the grin linger for a moment before he dropped it and coughed. He looked out the window at the storm that was now all but on top of them and frowned.

"Well, I know it ain't really that late," he said, "but with this storm goin' the way it is and the long day we're lookin' at tomorrow, I'd say it makes sense to grab our shut-eye now while we can."

"I agree," Ulquiorra said, lifting his silence at last and walking towards the door. "I made arrangements for the room at the end of the hall. I assume by the way the beds are arranged, that y'all got claims to this and the room across?"

"Yeah, that's right," Ichigo said casually, masking his inner surprise at the sharpness of the Espada's eye: he'd only seen the rooms in passing, and the doors were only open slightly, and yet he had gathered that much about them anyway?

Ichigo was just glad _this_ Espada was on his side – he couldn't even imagine how strong and cunning the _others_ would be.

He and Rukia left after Ulquiorra, leaving the room to Ishida and Renji. Rukia, for her part, was dead silent the whole walk to their room. She continued to give him the cold shoulder even as she undressed down to her underwear and slipped underneath the sheets of her bed, her back to his.

"Rukia," Ichigo said finally, his brow creased in irritation, "what is it? What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"

"Nothing, Ichigo," Rukia said flatly, but with enough force in her tone to put a premature end to the young man's attempt at conversation. "Good night."

Ichigo sighed and looked up at the ceiling, left to wonder what he'd done to get Rukia so pissed off at him.

Hopefully, she would be calmer in the morning.

A boom of thunder seemed to laugh loudly at him for thinking something so stupid, but Ichigo shut his mind to the outside world with a frown and closed his eyes in sleep.

* * *

Renji stepped out of the hotel and stretched in the morning sunlight. The smell of rain still lingered in the air, but the skies were clear and the day was already growing warm. He turned his face up to the east and grinned.

It felt damn good to be out of that bed.

He'd only been stuck in the hospital for a day, but it felt like it had been at least two years since he'd walked around. He wasn't used to being pampered and waited on and that Orihime girl had done both almost non-stop. He was prepared to do what he always did when he got shot: whiskey until the pain stopped. Still, he had to admit that she was a goddamn wizard with medicine. He'd been feeling the cold breath of the reaper at this time yesterday and now he was ready to ride, feeling more fit than he had in ages.

He smiled as the rest of his team appeared in the road, the four of them upon their horses, Ishida carrying the reins of the fifth and final steed. Renji stepped off the porch and into the sand below, his boots leaving deep indentations in the still damp earth. He walked up and took the leash from the bespectacled knife-fighter.

"We figured we'd give ya some extra time to get ready," Ishida said as Renji faltered on his first attempt to mount his horse. "Wouldn't want you to wind up back in the hospital right away."

"Ya know," Renji replied as he successfully leapt into the saddle, "that was right kind of ya. For a Jew, you ain't so bad."

Uryuu Ishida chuckled and opened his mouth to reply when he saw Orihime and Unohana walking down the street towards them. He went to smile at the girl before he noticed that her eyes were cast down as she walked. The two healers were soon next to them, the elder woman smiling up at Ichigo.

"If ya don't mind, Mister Kurosaki," she began, the weathered lines in her face doing little to mar her beauty. "I was hopin' I could ask you to take Miss Orihime with you."

"_What?_" Ichigo asked in astonishment. Renji could tell that the rest of the group was equally as astounded at the request. Lord knew he certainly was.

"See, Miss Unohana," Orihime began, her eyes still pasted to the ground. "They don't want me to be botherin' them none."

"N-no, it's nothin' like that," Ichigo said, his smile widening nervously. "It's just that…" he turned to Unohana. "Well, where we're headin' ain't exactly the safest place for a young lady such as her."

"Which is exactly why I reckon that she should go with you all," Unohana said. "I've been down in the south desert before. It's been ages, but some things you never forget and I won't never forget how dangerous it is down there. If the bandits don't kill ya, the scorpions and rattlers will."

"Exactly my point," Ichigo began again. "Orihime here is a medic, not a fighter."

"Come on, Miss Unohana," Orihime murmured. "Let's go on an' stop pesterin' these folks."

But the older woman was not deterred.

"And that is exactly _my_ point. Orihime is a wonderful healer. By the time she's my age, I wouldn't be s'prised if she learns how to cure death itself. You all need someone down there like her."

Retsu Unohana shot the briefest of glances at Ulquiorra, her blue eyes meeting with the Espada's green ones in a silent threat. The younger gunslinger looked away and lit his cigarillo, his eyes suddenly interested in the desert that stretched to the southern horizon.

Ichigo did not notice. "Well, that's right nice of ya, but I'm afraid we ain't got a horse for her or nothin'."

"She can ride with me," Ishida said quickly. His cheeks flushed with red and he immediately looked down at his hands. "If Miss Orihime doesn't mind, of course."

While he was concentrated on tying his hands into knots in his saddle, the young Jew completely missed Orihime look up from the ground and smile for the first time all morning.

"Accourse I don't mind," she said before returning her eyes to the ground. One of them peeked up at him from beneath her eyebrows. "So long as everyone else is fine, too."

Renji smirked and looked over at Ichigo. The orange-haired gunslinger returned the look and nodded. It was obvious that these two were pretty head-over-heels for one another. It would be down-right cruel to say no to the request.

Which was perfect.

"Well, I dunno," Ichigo said teasingly. "Ishida rides slowly enough as it is. I dunno if we can afford to lose any more time than we already will."

"Mister Kurosaki," Unohana said politely, despite the stern look in her eye. "I have patients to return to. I don't have all mornin' to wait for your answer."

Ichigo's smile fell.

"Well," he said, "as long as she's feelin' up to it, we'd be happy to have her."

"That's good to hear," Unohana said with a pleased smile to rival Orihime's. "She don't own too many belongings, but what she's got is still in the hospital. If you don't mind, we'll go fetch them?"

"Yeah," Ichigo replied. "We'll meet y'all there in a short while."

The two women walked away, Orihime with an added bounce in her step. Renji and Ichigo both turned and looked at Ishida, smiles wide. Even Rukia, who had been deathly silent all morning, seemed to be grinning at the young man, her eyes bright as she smiled. Ulquiorra didn't seem to care one way or the other, his deep green eyes still looking south.

"Well well, Ishida," Renji said, bucking his horse into a slow trot. "Looks like ya sure made yerself quite an impression on lil' miss 'Hime."

"Yeah," Ichigo chimed in. "Never in my life did I think you could pull in a catch like that little beaut!"

"Oh, leave him alone you two," Rukia quipped with a chuckle as she came up alongside Ishida. "She's a very lovely girl, Ishida."

"_Shut up_," the young Jew snapped. "I was just tryin' to be polite to a girl who's too shy to admit she wanted to come with us."

The trio of hecklers looked at one another before bursting out in laughter. Ishida frowned, his face turning red.

Ulquiorra suddenly set his horse moving, albeit slowly. He turned his head over his shoulder to look at his companions.

"Let's get on," he said calmly. "The girl shouldn't take too long, I s'pose. I'd like to get to the next town before nightfall."

Rukia glared at Ichigo, her eyes screaming for him to do something. Even Renji could read that look – she wasn't happy traveling with the Espada and she wanted Ichigo to know it. Renji could commiserate, even if he personally didn't give a damn one way or the other. This Ulquiorra fellow belonged to the gang that killed Ichigo's dad, but if the orange-haired gunslinger was fine following him, Renji couldn't see a problem with it.

Ichigo ignored the look Rukia was drilling into him and followed the Espada towards the southern edge of town. Renji sidled up to Rukia and tried to make eye contact with her, but the Kuchiki princess kept her brow knotted and her vision sternly forward.

Renji kinda felt bad for the girl. He didn't know the details between her and Ichigo, but he was fairly certain that their cute little flirting had gone up to the next level. She must have felt like she was suddenly taking second place to Ulquiorra. That in itself wasn't enough to make Renji pity her; just because you gave it up didn't mean that the lucky guy had to obey your every whim. He'd broken several hearts, including his own, with that philosophy.

But to be dethroned so quickly by some strange gunslinger had to be a painful shot to the ego for her.

_Whatever, _Renji thought as he began to follow the rest of his group. _She's a tough little thing. If Ichigo gets too bad, I'm sure she'll slap him into shape._

Orihime came out of the hospital with a small bag over her shoulder. Ishida stopped to help her up onto the saddle, but Ichigo and the Espada simply kept on heading forward.

* * *

"_Jesus the man,_" Renji exhaled as he sat down, his back against a thin tree. "I ain't rode this hard since… we'll I never rode this hard."

"Maybe you should try keepin' in shape," Ishida said as he sat down next to him, handing the red-haired gunslinger a water-skin. "This ain't so bad."

"Maybe Mister Abarai's needin' me to check his bee-hind," Orihime said cheekily. "Soundin' like he's got the saddle-sores."

Ishida and Orihime laughed. Their cutesey behavior was starting to get on Renji's nerves. They'd been pretty much absorbed with each other the whole day.

"Well ain't you just little-miss talkative now," Renji said, tossing the water-skin at her. Still, she was definitely the bright spot in their caravan. She seemed to be able to make Ishida lighten up and even laugh, so that was a change. And her goofy laugh was somewhat contagious; even Renji found himself grinning when she giggled.

The other three members of their party weren't nearly as talkative. Ulquiorra hadn't spoken a word since they left Junrinan – he'd simply led the way at a quick pace with, not caring who could or couldn't keep up. Ichigo had followed dutifully, as the Espada was sure to have known he would. And Rukia…

Rukia was sitting by herself, her back propped up against one of the numerous boulders that littered the plain they were on. She was eating lunch alone and, despite Renji's best efforts, she didn't want to join him and Ishida and Orihime. Which would have been nice; that way Renji would have had someone to carry a conversation with while little miss sunshine and Jew-boy did everything but lick each other.

"I got ta piss," Renji said unceremoniously, standing. "Don't sneak anything inta the rest of my lunch ya two…" Ishida and Orihime were looking off at the horizon together. "… yeah."

Renji walked around the backside of the nearest boulder and unbuttoned his fly. He'd heard of a recent invention that they used up north called a "zipper". It supposedly made the unfastening of a pant much simpler, but he'd have to see it to believe it. As far as he was concerned, his denims were fine the way they were.

With a sigh of relief, he unleashed the stream that had been nagging at his belly all day. His head tilted back and he looked out at the landscape with relaxed eyes. He knew that the area to the south of Rukongai was mountainous, but this was his first time ever seeing it. There was definitely more rocks than he was used to, but, oddly enough, the ground was growing greener as well. He figured he might as well enjoy it while he could – beyond those mountains to the south was the unforgiving desert of Hueco Mundo.

He re-buttoned his fly and stepped out from around the boulder, coming face-to-face with Ulquiorra Schiffer. He leapt back suddenly, startled by the sudden appearance of the Espada, a cloud of smoke wafting up to his face.

"Sorry, _amigo,_" Renji said, hoping his Spanish didn't sound too bad.

The green-eyed gunslinger said nothing as he stepped around Renji and postured himself to urinate. Renji quickly made his way out from the rock, snorting out some smoke that was still in his nostrils.

_I don't care how good it smells, _he thought as he sat back down against his tree, _if that kid ain't careful, he's gonna become a lunger._

The red-haired gunslinger sat down against his tree, pulling one of the revolvers from the holsters at his waits. He looked down at the right pistol of his _Zabimaru _pair, his thumb rubbing affectionately over the crimson grooves in the handle. He knew he needed to clean the poor bastards and he figured that now was better than never. He cracked the gun in half and reached for the rag in his sack.

"Alright," Ulquiorra said as he came from around the impromptu latrine, "let's get on."

Renji groaned, slipping his pistol back into the holster as he watched Ichigo eagerly mount his horse. He stood, grumbling under his breath about the lack of respite he was getting because of this Espada's seemingly endless energy.

"No," Rukia said, her voice hard. "We're not goin' anywhere."

Renji froze in mid-step towards his horse. While he did enjoy the idea of an extra moment of rest, he wouldn't have snapped at the Espada like that. After all, from what Renji had heard, the green-eyed gunslinger could easily kill any one of them without blinking an eye. And he figured the short gunslinger wouldn't hesitate, either.

"What?"

It was Ichigo that spoke first, breaking a silence that seemed to have lasted at least an hour.

"Rukia, what's got you all riled?"

Rukia whirled on him.

"Don't you play dumb," she hissed. "Ever since this Espada showed his face, you've been followin' him like a lost pup."

"Calm down now," Ichigo said, "Rukia."

"_No!" _Rukia yelled. "All we've done since he showed up was step on eggshells. I'm sick an' tired of makin' sure he's happy!"

"_Rukia!" _Ichigo yelled, his pupils tightening into beads. "Stop that nonsense. Ulquiorra here's my only ticket to Aizen. If you're thinkin' that I'm gonna let that chance slip on by, you got another thing comin'."

"Oh?" Rukia asked, tightly. "You'll follow his word before any of ours?"

Ichigo looked surprised at the question, his brown eyes looking carefully at each member of the team. They finally turned to the Espada behind him. Ulquiorra had remained silent throughout this whole outburst, his face still, his horse still pointed towards the town that he was leading them to.

Ichigo turned back to Rukia.

"What do you think this is?" he asked. "Did you forget why I came out here, Rukia? Did you forget about my _father? _About my _little sisters?_ For all I know, they're worse off than dead, and it's my fault!_"_

"So what? That's all you care about?"

He remained silent atop his horse.

"Don't you care about what we want anymore?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly. "Don't you care about what _I_ want?"

He sighed.

"'Course I do, Rukia. You know I do," he said, turning his mount. "But if you forgot why I started in the first place—"

"So it _is _more important than us?" she asked. "More important than me?"

"Yeah. It is," he said, turning his horse away. "And it always has been."

Ulquiorra kept his eyes on the quartet for a second longer, his gaze impassive, before he also turned, the two of them heading south towards vengeance.

Rukia stood stiffly, her back towards the other three people. Renji risked a quick glance towards the two people next to him, their expressions nearly as mortified as his own. He took a step forward and put a hand on Rukia's shoulder. She began to shake suddenly, and she turned, throwing herself into his chest. Shocked, her placed an arm around her as she wept into his shirt.

"Hey, hey," Renji said, his black eyes glaring at the retreating form of Ichigo Kurosaki. "Don't you worry your pretty little head."

* * *

_a/n_

_Hola, amigos! JasoTheArtisan here, droppin' the latest chapter if "Guns". Well, Jazz wrote the first half and I wrote the second – that seems to be the pattern we're rockin' here. Either way, we both hope you dug it and we both would love to hear you opinions on the chap in some **reviews! **_

_We're really on a roll with this story, so expect another update sooner than later!_

**Jaso and Jazz**


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